Stewardship
by Hawki
Summary: The Dae'Uhl, the Great Stewardship, had allowed the protoss to keep peace in their corner of the galaxy for thousands of years. But with the coming of the zerg and the fall of Aiur, the principles of the Dae'Uhl had been abandoned. Five years on, as preparations were made to reclaim Aiur, the question remained as to whether the Dae'Uhl would be enforced again. And at what cost...
1. Invasion

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 **StarCraft: Stewardship**

 **Chapter 1: Invasion**

Raise the Glow had carried the golden light up into the hovering ocean, and it was time to get up.

Runs Quite Quickly nonetheless remained in his cabin, lying on his bed of sanger fur. His own fur, by itself, was enough to keep him warm, but the fur of the sanger was far thicker than that of the people. Through his hunt with Throws Very Well, he had won the right to the fur, and that, he supposed, made its warmth all the more lovely. This was the time where Raise the Glow carried her orb shorter than she would in times past. The people had long noticed that the goddess's strength fluctuated in regular intervals, even while Rise the Light showed different shades of his pearl at far more regular cycles. He was tempted to just lie here, in warmth and comfort.

But he knew that it couldn't last. The village was of the world. The world would stay, but Raise the Glow would not stop her march through the hovering ocean, and in time, Rise the Light would carry his silver orb up into the hovering ocean, once it turned to a shade of black. When the ocean became black, the world would become colder, and he would once again enjoy the warmth of sanger fur, after eating ronsooroo meat, and drinking the water of Makes It Flow. But he would have to earn that right by working today.

So he got up, walking across his cabin. For while he and all of the people had earned their names, none expected every member of the people to embody their namesake all of the time – he did not need to run to embrace the light of the hovering ocean. The embers of last night's fire were still crackling. Taking an iron poker, he stirred the flames, as his fur gave prayer to Kindler of Flame that warmth continue to be provided for his abode. He quickly checked last night's stew – enough for lunch, if the gods were not kind to him on today's hunt. But, he told himself, he would be successful. He was always successful. For his name was Runs Quite Quickly, and run he did, faster as any member of the people of his village, or of the non-people of villages elsewhere. He would see Throws Very Well, and they would take up spear and sling, and they would return with fur sticking outwards in pride.

So he exited his abode into the village. He extended an arm and picked up some of the solid cloud off his roof that came from the hovering ocean – he would have to clear more of it away from his hut when time permitted. The solid cloud often fell, and too much of it would cause a hut to crumble. He had seen it, and seen those of the people who were taken to the brulokon for healing. Often, the brulokon would pray to Giver of Life, the goddess who lived within the world itself for the people to be healed. Very rarely did Giver of Life answer their prayers, for the life goddess rarely intervened in those she birthed. All those of the people had to live as best they could. To hunt beasts, to gather the fruits of the forest, and fight against the non-people. And when the time came, die with dignity. Some asked why the gods had not made the people immortal as the gods were, but the brulokon reminded them that it was not their place to know. They were the people, and the world was theirs. The land, the sea, but never the hovering ocean, upon which the gods and goddesses sailed their ships, bar the few who came down unto the world and stayed there, such as Giver of Life.

The village had woken up before he had, he noticed. The people were selling their wares, skinning sangers, selling kerogawi as pets, bartering tools. His top eye drifted towards a shovel (he needed to dig a new latrine pit), but he turned it away, and began to run. He could not be sure, but he felt that he was late. Throws Very Well and Soft Sneaking Hunter would be waiting for him at the northern gate. He ran, and ran, and stopped. For her had seen her. Fair as Flower, selling herbs alongside her parents. She turned her body on all of its ten legs, and all three of her eyes lined up with his. The middle one opened and closed rapidly. Through his own eyes, he saw the bristles of her fur shift, forming an intricate pattern. He saw how her arms became outstretched, however briefly. Through sight, they spoke, eyes, fur, and arms moving in tandem. In moments, it was established that Runs Quite Quickly would have to hunt, but that he hoped to see her later, before Rise the Light carried up his orb to join the shining islands of the hovering ocean. She responded that she hoped so as well. Feeling very, _very_ warm now, Runs Quite Quickly kept heading north, though walking sideways. The people did not have the twisting extension that joined body and head of other animals. They could only face one way. Look one way. So he saw as much of Fair as he could, as much as time allowed. Even while his sha cried out for more.

Soon, he reached the northern exit of the village, coming to a halt. Throws and Soft were there, and given how their fur responded to his presence, and how only their centre eyes were open as they looked at him, it was clear that they considered him late. In response, he gave his apologies. Throws made a 'yip' with his mouth – the people did not use mouths to communicate, bar the most simple of communications, or insults. Runs got the message. He would have to run faster. Today, they would hunt sangers, and jivaros, and gods willing, perhaps even a mashariki. Before the hovering ocean turned black, they would return, and ply their wares. Handed a spear, Runs made his pleasure known, a pleasure that they shared. They were of the people. And neither beast nor non-people could stop them. They headed north, towards the gate, towards the woods whose branches were covered in solid cloud…

…and stopped.

Nine eyes looked up to the hovering ocean, as a series of booms echoed through the air. Squinting through the light of Raise the Glow's orb, Runs saw strange objects coming down from the ocean. Looking back at the village, he saw the people stop what they were doing and look upwards as well. The gods, he wondered? Did they sail from the hovering ocean down to the land, as surely as the people might take to the ocean that bordered the land to the west? All his fur stood on end, even as he kept his arms steady – he was afraid, but would not show it. He would stand as one of the people, and await the coming of the gods. Unbowed, unafraid. He was Runs Quite Quickly, son of Builds Very Sturdy and Picker of Trees. He would greet the gods with his people.

The gods hovered above the village, yet he could only see their ships. Ships that were as black…no, blacker, than the hovering sea after the passing of Glow's orb. All of them large, casting shadows upon the solid cloud below them. And all of them jagged, as if one had taken a spear, made it thicker, and added as many blades onto it as possible. Weapons, he wondered? Of course not - the gods were the gods, who did not need to rely on the weapons that the people used. Still squinting, all three eyes open, he watched as smaller blades came out of the larger ones. Heading down towards the village, flying faster than even the fastest kerogawi. None of them had a kerogawi's wings or beak, but fly they did. Were all the vessels of the gods? Or, even worse, the Emptiness? He clutched his spear…

And dropped it, as he dived into the solid cloud, as a part of the wall that surrounded the village was pulverized. The gods were hurling green lighting upon them. Their large spears remained in the sky, while the small daggers rained lighting down on them. The people scattered, fur on end. He watched Throws hurl his spear up at the flying dagger, showing the worth of his name as it sailed through the air. It hit the dagger, and did nothing, bouncing off its blade. Runs looked at Throws – he was in fear. All were in fear. He moved his arms, to tell him that they had to find other hunters, and-

Throws screamed. It was a soft scream, ill-befitting an end to a hunter of the people. But a piece of green lightning hit him, and he fell into the solid cloud. Dead. His fur blackened, like a dead sanger on the fire. The gods were killing them. And, Runs wondered, who could stand against a god?

He looked at the hovering ocean, as the hovering spears remained in the air between the land and the ocean above. He looked at the flying daggers, letting bolt after bolt of green lightning down upon the land. He looked for Soft Sneaking Hunter, and soon found him running towards the village. To fight, to find family, he could not say. Through the slits above his mouth, he could smell the smell of burnt wood. Burnt fur. Burnt flesh. Kindler of Flame had given the people fire. Now, she was in the service of All Must End, the God of Death. Runs, feeling warm…too warm…picked up another spear. Looked up at the gods.

And then ran. Ran north. Ran away from the fire and fury. Ran through the gate, and didn't look back.

Ran as fast as he could.

* * *

From the bridge of the carrier _Tsokavis_ , Executor Selendis of the Daelaam watched the observer feed.

The carrier itself was five astronomical units from Barkul – the third planet of its star system. A multi-biome world situated on the outer edge of its system's habitable zone, accompanied by a single moon. Well within the acceptable parameters for life, albeit that of the kind suited for the cold conditions. She knew that the planet had given rise to a sapient species that the protoss called the eleesh – tiny, furry aliens of three eyes, ten legs, two elongated arms, and a level of technology that didn't even include the wheel yet. What they called themselves she couldn't say, and so early were they in their evolution, they might not even have a single name for their species, let alone a concept of what a species was. And as the observer displayed images on the viewscreen of the drakul attack, she wondered if by the next moonrise, there might be an eleesh species left. The drakul were nothing if not efficient. They would raid, they would kill, they would flee when the forces of the Protoss Empire arrived to enforce the dictates of the Dae'Uhl, just as they had when they last came to this world. But, that had been then. Before the Empire had crumbled and reformed into the Daelaam. And now?

 _Now I hide in the shadows like a cretin, while living shadows spill blood upon the snow._

Her fellow Templar attended to their duties as could be expected – half a dozen on the bridge, hundreds of them spread throughout the carrier itself. Through the Khala, they sensed her unease. Through the Khala, Selendis felt her unease translate into their own. Unease not so different from the kind she'd felt for the past five cycles. Helplessness. It was a disease, she reflected. The observer stationed above Barkul had been operating for decades. Her eyes blazed with the glow of raging suns as she watched the drakul level the eleesh village. How long had it been since she had fought them, she wondered? How long had it taken them to realize how much had changed in this corner of the galaxy? After the zerg. After the Great War. After humanity had claimed its own fiefdom on the galactic rim and spread ever outwards? She took a step towards the viewscreen, watched as drakul pillagers deployed from Scythes. Clenched her right fist hard enough that her claws dug into her skin. The eleesh were at their mercy. And mercy was not something that the drakul were inclined to show.

 _Mercy,_ Selendis reflected to herself. _A fool's indulgence._

She would know. She'd fallen into that trap herself only too recently. A trap that she would not fall into now, as-

"I do not suppose this is something to relish."

She felt his voice enter her mind. Her skin mottled as she heard his footsteps on the bridge of the ship. Her eyes remained focused on the observer feed as he came to stand next to her. No Khalai would have escaped her notice in such a way.

"I do not recognize these aliens."

But Prelate Azimar was not Khalai. He was Nerazim. An enigma, wrapped in the Void's shroud, sequestered from her thoughts. Bereft of the Khala's light. Shadows spread over Barkul, as surely as they did in orbit. But now, a shadow walked beside her.

"Drakul," Selendis said, still not meeting Azimar's gaze. "Pillagers, pirates, thieves." Sparks of psionic energy briefly filled the air. "You would like them."

"Perhaps. How well do they bleed?"

"Their blood is red. But that is irrelevant considering that your warp blade would cauterize their wounds."

"You might be surprised."

Selendis turned to face him, even as his own eyes remained locked on the viewscreen. Was that an insult, she wondered? Did he dare suggest that she was unfamiliar with the ways of war? She'd been there on Aiur. Led her people from Aiur. Even returned to Aiur to help rescue what warriors she could from the broken world. If he had been one with the Khala's light, she would have known in a heartbeat, but bereft as he was of the Firstborn's birthright, she could only guess.

"Fate, it seems, has strange plans," Azimar said. "The _Tsokavis_ is stationed in this system, and these aliens attack these…" He looked at her. "Do they have names?"

"Eleesh. Or at least that is what we call them." Selendis turned away and looked upon the assembled Templar. "The dictates of the Dae'Uhl are clear. The eleesh are threatened, and we are behoved to intervene. Set course to Barkul and-"

"Wait."

She stopped short. She had spoken verbally, so that Azimar might hear her words. It was a concession to Nerazim that she do so, as inefficient as such communication might be. But now, he had spoken as well. She turned to face him-

 _You dare challenge me? You, who are only here by the grace of the hierarch?_

…and spoke cordially. "You disapprove?"

Azimar rose a hand to his chin – his right, cybernetic one, a replacement to the limb he had lost two cycles past in an operation in a xel'naga temple. "I know of the Dae'Uhl," he said. "Of its dictates."

"Then you know we must intervene."

He shook his head. "I know that your enforcement of the Dae'Uhl relied on the protoss being at their zenith. And I also know that in a time such as this, as we make preparations to reclaim Aiur, that it would be ill advised to start a war on another front."

"The zerg are gone," Selendis said. "Their queen flees the sector. And we do not make 'war' with the drakul. One does not wage a war against plunderers."

"I do not doubt that you know more of them than myself. But I have witnessed the passage of centuries, and learned the lessons of the universe. Unto my experience, I would advise consulting with the Hierarchy before committing to action. Especially in the context of your last engagement in such similar circumstances."

Selendis clenched her fist again and spared another look at the observer feed. It was still transmitting in real-time – either the drakul hadn't detected it, or didn't care. She suspected the former, but could at least consider the latter. That they knew the Firstborn were aware of their actions, and believed that they were too weak to intervene.

And, gods preserve her, they might be right. The _Tsokavis_ was a single carrier, but one would be enough to destroy their small flotilla. But the protoss would need the _Tsokavis_ and every other ship when the time came to return to Aiur. Gods preserve them, even more if the Queen of Blades did indeed return to the sector, and set her sights upon Shakuras in the same manner that she had Korhal.

"I will confer with the Hierarchy," she said eventually. "They will vouch for intervention, but if it satisfies your desire to follow protocol, I will grant you such indulgence."

Azimar's eyes blazed for a moment. "I trust your faith will not be misplaced."

 _Faith_ , Selendis thought, as Azimar stepped away. _What do you know of faith? Of the Khala? Of the Dae'Uhl?_ She sent a thought-stream to Templar Malekis. _Establish a psi-link with the Hierarchy. I want their blessing for engagement as quickly as possible._

 _It shall be done, Executor._

She flexed her fingers, before turning her gaze back to the viewscreen. The drakul…they would know the wrath of the Sons of Aiur. Later than she cared for, but they would feel it all the same. They would fight or flee, but either way, the Dae'Uhl would be upheld. Honour's demands met.

Her honour most of all.


	2. Submission

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 **StarCraft: Stewardship**

 **Chapter 2: Submission**

It briefly occurred to Runs Quite Quickly that if the gods were trying to end his life, he should perhaps just oblige and let the green light from their spears hit him.

It was a thought that entered his mind only for a second as he ran across the solid cloud of the forest that lay to the north of their village. Above the trees, the daggers of the gods zipped to and fro, casting their green light upon the solid cloud. The cloud itself would erupt in puffs. Trees fell down, or were vaporized, blasting apart in a hail of wood. Kerogawi flew through the air, letting out songs of terror, so different from their usual melodies. Here and there, he saw a sanger's body, and so far, even one mighty mashariki. They were not fast, but they were strong, and few of the people tried to hunt them. But they were nothing when compared to the gods, and if a mashariki could not stand against them, what could he possibly do? Throws had hit one of the flying daggers, done nothing, and died seconds later. Soon, Runs reflected, he might be dead as well. He was running, and the gods kept missing. But they would only have to hit him once. More green lightning came, but he stretched out his right arm, grabbing hold of a tree branch. He swang through the air, as a jivaros might. Without pausing, he jumped to another branch, and another one after that. He was moving slower than he would over the solid cloud, but perhaps up here in the branches, the gods would have a harder time seeing him and-

They hit him.

Not quite, he realized, but he let out a shriek as the tree in front of him was obliterated. The green lightning did not touch him, but the bark that flew into his stomach…that did hit him. Hard. He placed a hand to his stomach, feeling the sticky, green substance that was his blood wash out into his fur. He felt faint. He wobbled. He fell. His body landed in the solid cloud with a 'clump.' He lay there, the solid cloud becoming green, like the grass to the south. He might die, he thought.

Perhaps he was meant to. The gods sought to kill him. It was not the first time he had entertained that thought, but now, feeling his life slip away, the thought not only returned, but remained. He watched the flying dagger in the sky, its black, featureless blade cutting off the light of the golden light in the hovering ocean. A shadow was cast upon the solid cloud, as well as himself. The gods saw all. The gods could do anything. And yet…

And yet he felt the wood that had entered his stomach. If they were gods…why like this? Why had they taken so long to kill him? As he watched the flying dagger turn in the air, and fly south, a stream of smoke emitting from its hilt, he reflected on All Must End. The god of death took members of the people at will. It had taken his mother by the furless plague – when she had been laid to rest in the solid cloud, her body had no fur left on it. She had been left as bare as a kerogawi egg, and just as fragile. His father had been killed in a skirmish with a tribe of non-people, and had likewise entered the Emptiness. The people and the non-people killed through crude means, but the gods could strike down the people at will. So why like this? Had they been toying with him? Some gods, like Giver of Life and Kindler of Flame, were known to be capricious, while Raise the Glow and Rise the Light were stalwart. Raise had been their saviour from the beings of the Emptiness. Could it…His fur stood on end. Were these even gods, or were they from the Emptiness? They who were never to return? He closed one of his eyes. Too many questions. He was dead. Throws was dead, Soft was likely dead, and Fair as Flower…she was likely dead as well. Even if she survived, the people would not find him here. Not before the solid cloud covered his body. His first eye remained closed, and soon, his second joined it. Over soon, he reflected. Over soon…as the third eye closed, the first life would end, and he would enter the Emptiness, and-

No!

He pulled out the wood from his stomach, letting out a small screech, much to his embarrassment. He was a hunter of the people. The people did not make the sounds of lesser beasts, who chittered away, or snarled like the sanger, or roared like the mashariki. But, he would live with himself. He would live, period. The gods, or beasts, or whatever they were…they had failed to kill him. Failed, or for whatever reason, chosen to leave him alive. He staggered to his feet, extending an arm up to a tree branch to keep himself steady. He was not yet dead. He might soon be, but as long as he could walk, if not run, then he would not enter the Emptiness. He would head back to the village and-

He stumbled. He closed an eye. No. He couldn't head back. If he was still alive by the time he reached the village, the gods would kill him on the spot. He needed to rest. To heal. And bar the village, the only place where he might be able to do that was the shrine to the north. So many bounds away. But, he thought, as he looked over what was left of the forest, what else could he do but live and pray? Live long enough to reach the shrine, and live slightly longer to offer a prayer to Raise the Glow. The mother goddess. The one who protected them from the creatures of the Emptiness. Rise the Light sometimes provided such protection and light, but Raise was always there. Raise came when Rise would not. Raise would help them…even if the golden orb remained in the sky, and no sign of the gods bar those with the flying daggers was there to be seen. Perhaps, he wondered, he should close all his eyes, and not see her light any longer. Perhaps he should return to the solid cloud. Perhaps…perhaps…

No. He would not. Leaning on his spear, he stumbled to the north. The shrine, gods willing, might have herbs with which to treat his wound. But if he perished, so be it. All that mattered was that his arms and fur be seen, and the gods see his prayer.

What else could he do?

* * *

After casting one last glance at the observer feed, Selendis entered the psi-link array.

The same feed would be beamed to Shakuras in real-time. On that world, over a hundred light years away from Barkul, the Hierarchy would have gathered in the Citadel. On that same world, a hologram of Executor Selendis would appear before them. To her, however, the members of the Hierarchy were holograms. There were more simple ways the Firstborn might communicate with one another, but she preferred the intimacy. Through the psi-link, she could feel the minds of her fellow Khalai, however faintly. Artanis, Nahaan, Zekrath, Tabrenus, and Urun…all her fellows. Some she respected more than others, but she could concede that at moonrise's end, they could be counted on to work for the good of the Daelaam, even if their views differed on how best that goal be met. Only Mohandar's mind was cut off from hers, for he was a Nerazim. The only Nerazim on the council.

 _But where is Vorazun?_

Vorazun was not a member of the Hierarchy, but would sometimes still attend meetings to ensure the needs of her people were met. This, apparently, was not one of those times. But if Raszagal's daughter had better things to do attend a gathering of the Hierarchy, Selendis would let her. She and her people might ever owe a debt to the Nerazim matriarch, but Vorazun had fought Artanis at every turn. She was a stone in the river, forcing the water to flow around her. If the stone was removed, the river would flow faster, and Selendis would have her blessings to engage all the quicker.

"En Taro Tassadar, Executor Selendis," Artanis said.

"En Taro Tassadar, Hierarch." She put a palm to her armour – invoking Tassadar's name made her feel ill at ease, but she would give Him his honorific nonetheless. "I trust you have all been briefed."

"To the extent that the drakul have attacked Barkul, yes," Artanis said. She watched as the hologram of the hierarch consulted another holographic display. "The report from Prelate Azimar was succinct, if not elaborate in detail."

"There is no need for detail," Selendis said. "The drakul are here. The _Tsokavis_ is in striking distance. I would think there is no need for this debate."

"After Haven?" Urun asked. "Perhaps you might reconsider your haste to engage enemies. Conjured or otherwise."

Selendis's eyes narrowed – she would have thought that Urun, of all the council members, would support her in this. Not dredge up unpleasant memories from one cycle ago. "The situation is different," she said cordially.

"Different, but still irrelevant," Nahaan said. "Aiur is within our grasp, and you would engage against space pirates in a quest to satiate your honour."

"It is not my honour that demands action, but the Dae'Uhl."

"One lesser species attacks another. The drakul are nothing. The eleesh less than nothing." She watched as Nahaan looked at Artanis. "You know this, Hierarch. The edicts of the Dae'Uhl cannot apply now."

"And will they ever?" Artanis asked.

"It is your choice, of course." He bowed his head slightly. "But I would protest against this. And I am certain that many on the council would as well."

Selendis watched his gaze shift to Tabrenus and Zekrath. Nahaan…by the gods, she couldn't claim surprise that he would be against action. Five cycles ago, he had argued for the extermination of humanity by the hands of Tassadar, in light of the zerg threat, and over those five cycles, his attitude had remained unchanged. Zekrath, as ever, was inscrutable, and Tabrenus…She stretched out her mind, trying to gauge his thoughts, but his mind was closed from hers. But whether it be by distance, or design, she couldn't say – Tabrenus had rarely shown any interest in the politicking of the Hierarchy anyway, so his silence was perhaps not surprising. So all that left was-

"Prelate Mohandar," Selendis said. "What say you?"

It was a gamble. She could ill abide asking a Nerazim for aid, but she knew what had to be done, and the longer they debated, the more eleesh would die. Worse, the drakul might escape.

"What do I say?" Mohandar asked. Selendis watched his eyes grow dim – Mohandar was old. Older than any of the Hierarchy's members, yet she sensed that on this particular matter, his wisdom was limited. "What can I say of the Dae'Uhl? It is a concept of your empire."

"Formed a thousand cycles before the Discord," Selendis said.

"Indeed, yet my people did little to uphold it, as we sought refuge from the Conclave. A noble concept, to take on the stewardship of the gods, to safeguard other races, and yet I ask, what role does it have to play in our new society? The galaxy has changed. Like us, you know what it is to remain in the shadows, to no longer stride the stars as lords and masters."

Selendis clutched her fist even tighter. Through the Khala, she could sense similar resentment from Nahaan – his mind at least was as open as a parchment. For a moment, she was surprised, in that he had argued the same thing as Mohandar had. But of course, she realized, Nahaan clung to his version of truth. Others might reach the same truth, but he would resent them for it. The truth was his alone.

 _And yet the truth is that there should be no need for this charade. If we are to hide in the shadows, what of the drakul? They're so deep in shadow one could barely see them!_

"And yet…" Mohandar trailed off, briefly closing his eyes. "And yet, like my other councillors, I have seen the footage you have sent us. Death. Destruction. Small in scale, compared to the carnage that has fed the soil of a hundred worlds, yet death nonetheless. So I would ask you…what can you tell me of the drakul?"

Selendis tilted her head. "What can we tell you?"

"What can you tell me?" Mohandar repeated. "Their name is unfamiliar."

"Of course it is," Nahaan said. He glanced at Selendis. "The drakul are vermin, nothing more. They are beneath us."

"Evidently not," Tabrenus said, speaking for the first time. He looked at Selendis. "Very well, Executor. Tell us of the drakul. Are they vermin? Or do we risk waking a sleeping giant?"

Selendis looked at Artanis. Surely, she thought, surely it should be he who should speak? They were both Templar, they both knew what it was to uphold the Dae'Uhl. To defend the Firstborn, and those beneath them. Even Urun could answer for her. She stretched out her mind, touching on the thoughts of the hierarch…but she drew back. The Khala was faint, but she could sense the tumult. It was a storm, and he was barely cresting the waves. And Selendis knew enough about the Hierarchy and the precarious state of her people to understand. He wanted her to speak. After all, was it not she who was championing the eleesh's cause?

"The drakul," Selendis said. She began walking around the holographic display of the Hierarchy, picking a crystal off the wall of the array as she did so. To them, she would be drifting like a spirit, but to her, her flesh and thought-stream was one. "They were first encountered by Executor Latharin roughly four-hundred and eleven cycles ago, above the moon of Santrag. They engaged his fleet, and suffered for it. Since then, we have learned a degree of their culture and biology." She paused. "If the Dae'Uhl is to be upheld, one must understand one's enemy."

"And what of this enemy?" Mohandar asked.

 _Enemy._ She felt Nahaan's thoughts enter her own. _Space pirates are the 'enemy' of the Firstborn? You would distract us from the only enemy that matters?_

Selendis cloistered her mind from his touch. The zerg were the greatest enemy the protoss had ever known, and billions of them were still on Aiur. Yet she would not be swayed, and using her mind in conjunction with the crystal, beamed a hologram of a drakul across the void of space, right to Shakuras. The Hierarchy would see the enemy that now terrorized the eleesh.

"A drakul," she said. "Two meters tall, on average. Nocturnal, with excellent vision. Average strength for a species of their nature, but well above average speed." She gestured to the creature's pale, hairless head, moving down from the nostrils, to the pair of eyes, down to the mouth. "You will notice the creature's mouth, how the jaws open sideways rather than vertically. Beyond their lips are rows of teeth that they can use to tear into the flesh of other animals. Usually around the neck. Blood-suckers, in all respect. Not to mention that they can dislocate their jaw and strike out, akin to a serpent."

She glanced at Mohandar – he looked interested, while the other Khalai looked on impassively. They all knew this. She quickened her words, drawing reference to the drakul's black armour, with its clan markings and trinkets – fingers, bones, cultural artifacts. Nahaan had called the drakul space pirates, and in that regard, he was right. In her experience, few races in the galaxy were mono-cultural. Even the terrans were divided into three major factions, along with a fourth situated on the planet they called Earth. But the drakul…

"We cannot say what the drakul homeworld is," Selendis continued. "They are a nomadic species, divided into numerous clans that will fight each other as readily as other species. But from what we have learnt of their history, the drakul rose to sapience late in the history of their homeworld. They achieved FTL travel just in time to escape their system as their sun became a white dwarf, remaining in space. The drakul are nocturnal, but being a race of nomads, it hardly affects them – we believe that each drakul's biological clock is set to the cycle of their home ship."

"And what of their ships?" Mohandar asked. "What of their warriors?"

 _Warriors. Too generous a word._

Selendis didn't say that though – she had little time for the concerns of the Nerazim, but Mohandar was at least asking sensible questions. Adjusting the crystal, the image of the drakul changed to a trio of ships. She highlighted the first one – the largest of the three, shaped like a crescent. Like a Tempest, but larger, and darker.

"A Harvester," Selendis explained. "A capital ship by drakul standards, though a light warship by ours. While they may outclass us in speed, and carry up to thousands of slaves or…warriors, in their hulls, they are little to be feared. They carry plasma weaponry, but little else."

"Apart from their fighters?" Mohandar asked.

Selendis nodded and gestured to the second ship – a dagger-shaped craft that was roughly the same size as a Scout. "This is a Pillager," she explained. "A light attack craft, likewise equipped with plasma weaponry. Our observer feed has establishes that the pair of Harvesters above this world are carrying them. They don't hit that hard, but they're exceptionally fast." She moved on to the last of the ships. It was wide and long, its cockpit in the shape of a sickle's tip, as it required two drakul to pilot. "A Scythe," Selendis explained. "A troop transport. No sign of this yet, but if the drakul seek the eleesh as slaves, they will be deployed." She closed the hologram, looking over the Hierarchy. "Understand that the drakul will sooner take flight rather than fight. We have engaged them over a dozen times over the centuries, though only when the drakul were threatening another species. Their ships are outclassed by ours, and their warriors cannot stand before the Templar. They fear us. Give me your blessings, and they shall fear us again."

"But they do not fear us now, do they?" Urun asked. "Are they ignorant, Selendis? Or arrogant?"

She hesitated – if Urun had doubts, then what could be said for the other council members?

"The drakul clans," Mohandar asked. "Have they ever been united?"

"In the past, yes, but-"

"So if you engage them here, we might turn the drakul against us. I fear we could ill afford a second enemy, even with the zerg departed and the terrans bloodied."

Anger coursed through Selendis, washing over her like a wave across a beach. Mohandar and his kind hid from the light, who was he to lecture her on fear? The air crackled around her. An illumination crystal on the ceiling gave out. Clenching her fist, she was ready to speak-

"Thank you, Executor."

But said nothing, as Artanis spoke. When the hierarch spoke, she listened, as did the rest of the Hierarchy.

"We shall convene to discuss these matters," Artanis said. "In the meantime, you are not to engage the drakul."

Her anger, which had briefly retreated, began to bubble upwards. "But the dictates of the Dae'Uhl-"

"Are clear," Artanis said, and as he looked at Nahaan, Selendis could tell that it was not only her that he was speaking to. "Yet the nature of reality is clear as well. The Great Stewardship has made us guardians of those who dwell in our shadow. Yet shadows have spread over our domain, and our own shadow is much reduced. Hence, we must consider the choice that lies before us."

"And how many eleesh will die until that happens?"

Artanis's eyes flashed. "Far fewer than the number of protoss who have fallen to the Swarm. Fewer even than those who will sally forth upon Aiur when the time comes."

 _And more than I lost one cycle ago?_

It was her own question, one addressed only to herself. Her own mind. Her own conscience. A question that she feared answering.

"We shall be in contact soon," Artanis said. "En taro Tassadar."

"En taro Tassadar," Selendis replied.

The hologram of the Twilight Council flickered, faded, then died.

And Selendis was left alone.


	3. Conclusion

.

 **StarCraft: Stewardship**

 **Chapter 3: Conclusion**

Runs Quite Quickly could no longer run.

He could barely even walk, as he stumbled over the solid cloud. The gods had let him be; their flying daggers had headed south, and so far not returned. But if this stemmed from mercy, or in knowledge that he was dead already, he couldn't say. Clasping his spear, now only good as a walking stick, he nonetheless continued northward. The shrine would be there for him. By luck or grace, if he could make it…

He let out a moan, and fell into the solid cloud. The blood from his stomach began turning it a sickly shade of green – like grass, but darker, and with a warmth that gave him chills. Perhaps it was the end, he reflected. Perhaps he would enter the Emptiness. Looking up with one eye, he saw that the golden orb of Raise the Glow was still in the hovering ocean, the daggers of the gods nowhere to be seen. Or were they the beings of the Emptiness? He couldn't say. Could not move his fur or arms to make any kind of indication as to what he thought. The brulokon could preach as he wanted, but Runs saw the people's relationship with the gods as being practical. The people worshipped and gave offerings, the gods provided them with the world and all its bounties. Like sangers for fur, or kerogawi for songs – non-names for non-people, but part of the world nonetheless. Perhaps he could lie here in the solid cloud, his body taken by Giver of Life, and his sha entering the Emptiness. Perhaps…perhaps…

No. Extending one arm down through the solid cloud, Runs felt the dirt on his palm. How it moved between his fingers, its touch coarse, but pleasant to his touch. He pushed up, and with his other arm, used the branch to steady himself. His fur was on end, and he nearly broke the silence of the people such was his pain, but nonetheless, he picked up his spear again and staggered onward, his feet going up and down through the solid cloud in regular succession. He was nearly at the shrine. Perhaps he would perish there, but if his prayers could be heard to Raise the Glow, if he could invoke her mercy and save his people from The Emptiness, his would be a life well spent. And if the gods themselves had come instead…well, then nothing could impede them.

His eyes opened and closed as he trudged along, as an icy wind ran through his fur, chilling him in both body and sha. He cast his mind back to what he knew of the Emptiness – not much, but he could ill bear to imagine what might be befalling his people in the village. He knew that the Emptiness was not always known to the people. Once, all that was known was that when they died, their bodies were taken into the earth, into the domain of Giver of Life – a gift from All Must End, according to the last brulokon, though the current one disputed that. The non-people had different, absolutely nonsensical ideas about the nature of the world, ranging from one all-powerful single deity to the idea that all life was equal in the eyes of the gods, but they were non-people, and of course, their ideas were wrong. But even so, at some point in the people's history, they had learnt of the Emptiness. Learnt of it through the beings that resided within it. Beings that came in weapons not dissimilar to the ones he had seen mere hours ago. The Emptiness reached into the world, and took people into it in chains made of polished stone. The Emptiness would have taken them all if not for Raise the Light.

He could see her. Not just her orb, but he could see the shrine in the clearing up ahead. He quickened his pace, even as his stomach continued to shed blood, as if it were the hovering ocean itself releasing some of its water onto the world below. Trying to separate his mind from his body, he recalled the tale of how Raise the Glow had unleashed bolts of light on the creatures of the Emptiness, and driven them into the darkness. On that day, the people had learnt of the Emptiness, and understood that one day, they would enter it. Perhaps able to find one another in the dark, but in death, forever removed from the world. But in life, they would give thanks to all the gods. For they were, after all, the gods, and the Emptiness's spawn was as nothing compared to them. Yet where were they now?

Runs stumbled onto the shrine. It was in the shadow of a wooden statue of Raise the Glow, carved from the oldest and sturdiest of trees, but the shrine itself was made of dark, polished stone, salvaged from the mountain of fire near the village. A gift from Kindler of Flame, telling them to honour the gods. And so they had, as best they could, dragging the stone into the forest and fashioning it into a slab through upon which they could rest their palms and heads. Through hands, they would touch the gods, and through heads, they would know them. He would do that in a moment, but before he did that, he rummaged through the herbs that had been arrayed before it, bundled in sanger fur. Herbs, he reflected with satisfaction. He gingerly pressed the leaves against his stomach, stemming the flow of blood. It was important to keep the blood in the body – there were times when a member of the people had been lightly wounded, but still perished. The brulokon said that it was the work of air sprites, unable to be seen or felt, and they entered the body through the opening to do mischief. Runs could only hope that the spirits hadn't found him yet. If so, then there was little he could do. His mother had succumbed to the furless plague, and no amount of prayer had saved her.

Would prayer save him here and now? He used a long, thin branch to wrap the leaves around his stomach. He could only hope, but he had to pray for the people before he prayed for himself. So in silence, he pressed his head and palms against the shrine. They would hear his thoughts. See his fur, begging for aid. Whether they would act, he could not say. He drew himself back, looking past the shrine. He had done what had to be done. Now he dared look at Raise the Glow. Fashioned through wood, the work had been done to honour the sun goddess. When she had banished the creatures of the Emptiness. A being unlike any member of the people, he reflected – she was tall. Extraordinarily tall. She had no fur, two eyes, no nose or mouth, and her hands and legs (a mere two of them) were in strange proportions – thicker, for one thing Even her fingers differed, with two fingers and two thumbs, rather than the seven fingers every member of the people possessed. The gods had made the world, but they had not made the people in their own image. But the people had nonetheless tried to honour Raise the Glow in hers.

He looked up at the sky, to the golden orb still high above in the hovering ocean. Would the gods answer? Or would The Emptiness take them?

Lying down in the solid cloud and closing his eyes, Runs Quite Quickly could only hope that he would learn the answer before he entered the Emptiness regardless of the gods' actions.

Or lack of them.

* * *

"We have been here before. Haven't we?"

Selendis barely listened to Azimar. Her gaze was fixed on the observer feed, showing the drakul touch down in their Scythes, while their Pillagers remained in the sky, shooting back and forth with the speed of an acripide. The drakul raiders patrolled the streets of the village, while the latter had touched down outside its walls. They were large and solid enough that they would have easily crushed the eleesh's wooden homes without any effort, but Selendis supposed they didn't want to risk crushing any potential slaves. That, or damage any potential trinkets. She could make out the drakul themselves – shard rifles, plasma cannons, trinkets on their black armour that told the tales of previous conquests. Perhaps the drakul had their own twisted sense of honour and glory, but it was glory built off mountains of corpses, while their slaves toiled to maintain the mountain. The protoss had risen to their zenith by their own merits.

"Executor?"

She spared a glance at the prelate. "What?"

"The protoss. We have been to Barkul before."

"What are you talking about?"

He tossed Selendis an ihan crystal. With a brief use of telekinesis, she caught it in mid-air and brought it down to her palm. She probed the crystal with her mind, and thus beheld the data it contained. Eyes narrowed, she returned her gaze to the Nerazim.

"You retrieved this?"

"The archives of the _Tsokavis_ are open to all. Even to those who did not fill them."

Selendis didn't dispute the point. Instead, she returned her focus to the crystal. Images filled her mind – not with as much clarity as a preserver might provide, but it demonstrated the point. Within the crystal, she could see the bridge of a carrier, centuries removed from hers in both time and design. Beyond its windows was the reach of space, as Illuminae-type fighters filled the sky, alongside a swarm of interceptors. But most of all was the executor on the bridge. The one she knew would soon descend to the surface of Barkul.

"Executor Nevosian."

The withdrew her mind from the crystal and pocketed it. Her fellow Templar continued their duties as was expected. Through the Khala, she could feel their presence, but her eyes were fixed only on the prelate.

"Three-hundred and six cycles ago, she commanded the carrier _Machech_ to Barkul, in response to a drakul raid," Azimar continued. "Her single ship routed their entire raiding party, and the executor personally took to the surface to do battle. Not a victory that might be regularly discussed in the annals of your Empire's history, but given the rarity of female executors…"

He trailed off. Was he baiting her, Selendis wondered? Neither his words nor tone were barbed, but what purpose was there to telling her this? She tried to probe his mind with hers, but-

 _I have no secrets._

But she withdrew in frustration. Azimar was like a closed book, one with a cover as thick as the hull that protected her from the vacuum of space. If she was to open it…

"Why do you tell me this?" she asked. If she was going to open the book, she wanted to get it done quickly and efficiently. Once Artanis gave her his blessings to engage the drakul, Azimar's concerns would no longer matter.

"I am curious," Azimar said, "as to whether your judgement is clear on the matter at hand." Selendis made an attempt to respond but he continued to speak. "Even if one leaves aside the matter of Haven, one is still faced with the idea of glory. Over three centuries ago, an executor not dissimilar from yourself routed the drakul from this world. Now, the drakul return."

"Speak plainly, Azimar."

"I am not blind to the suffering of the eleesh, but I must ask whether your desire to aid them is based on the correct considerations. Is it by the dictates of the Dae'Uhl you seek to act? Or the dictates of honour and past glories?"

Selendis stood there. She was taller than Azimar. Physically, his superior. Deep down, in one of her hearts, she almost wished he would yell at her, or by the gods, attack her. War was simple, and war, she could fight. A duel with Azimar she could win. But he just stood there, plainly speaking through his telepathy. Just letting out blunt, uneasy sentences. Sentences that made her other two hearts writhe.

"Executor."

She didn't turn – she recognised Malekis's voice.

 _Templar?_

 _Contact from Shakuras._

 _Put it through._

The conversation was silent - far more efficient than the worded communication she had with Azimar, and right now, she had nary a second to spare. Looking up at the viewscreen, she saw Artanis standing before her, in front of the seated members of the Hierarchy. Here, with only visual communication, she could not feel Artanis's mind through the Khala. But it mattered not. He was here, and would give her his blessings. Azimar had tried to obstruct her, but in the end, the drakul would feel the blades of the Templar.

"En taro Tassadar, Hierarch," Selendis said. "Your quick response is appreciated."

"As is your dedication," Artanis responded.

"I have more than just dedication. Give me your blessings, and the drakul will see our wrath as well."

She nearly said "my" wrath, but went with "our." She was not so naive as to believe that all of the Hierarchy would agree with Artanis's decision to engage the drakul. But the Daelaam, and the Hierarchy especially, was built on compromise, and it would do their hearts good to know that she spoke for all the protoss, not just the ones who-

"Executor, you are ordered to return to Shakuras immediately."

She froze.

She had never frozen before. Not in battle, not in peace, never. It was but for a moment, but in a moment, the universe would turn, stars would be born and die, and entire species could be snuffed out of existence. For but a moment, she stood there in silence. For a but a moment, she felt the claws of eternity.

"Hierarch…" She began. The moment had ended, but her confusion had not.

"I have listened to the Hierarchy's counsel," Artanis said, his eyes dim, his voice weary. "And I must decide that we cannot afford to engage the drakul. Not in this hour."

"But the Dae'Uhl-"

"May one day be again upheld, but our people must be whole to enforce it. The zerg are gone from the Koprulu sector, but united, the drakul could turn into a formidable threat. One we cannot afford to deal with."

"The drakul are…" Selendis trailed off. She couldn't believe it. Not from Artanis. Not after all they had seen together. Aiur, Shakuras, Braxis, Char, they had fought while others had perished, they had held back the night, they had shepherded their people into a twilight dawn. The one member of the Hierarchy whom she could call friend without reservation, one as close as any khas'lor…he would do this to her?

"You hesitate, Executor." It was Nahaan who spoke. "Are the hierarch's orders not heard?"

She remained impassive – of course Nahaan would want her back on Shakuras. So might other members of the Hierarchy. But Artanis had the final say. He was obliged to listen to their advice, not follow it. And yet, he was giving her orders that she could not comprehend.

"I hear the hierarch's orders," Selendis said slowly. She fixed her eyes on Artanis's. Both were the colour of sky, however dim. "But…" She paused. A storm raged in her mind, and while she was connected with the fellow Templar of her ship, from Artanis, there was only a void in the Khala, such was the distance of space.

"This is not Haven," she said slowly. Her voice low, her eyes dim.

"I did not suggest that it was."

"I have continued to transmit the observer feed. You know what the drakul have done. What they may do to other eleesh."

"I am aware of their plight."

"And you would have me flee."

"I would," Artanis said. "We both know that at times, flight is the only recourse left."

"And how many times do cowards give that excuse?"

She regretted the words immediately. Artanis was not a coward. After all that he had done for the Firstborn, she could never call him a coward. And yet, somehow, she had just done so. Looking into her hierarch's eyes, Artanis looked…hurt, she wondered? If so, only for a moment, because soon his eyes blazed with the glory of a newborn son. If she had hurt his spirit, that was secondary to the act of criticizing him in front of the Hierarchy.

"You shall return to Shakuras," he said firmly. "That is my decision."

And with that, the viewscreen winked out. A darkness remained on the screen, mirroring the darkness of space. The darkness of Shakuras that Artanis would bid her return to. A darkness that welled up within her soul.

"Executor."

She looked at Malekis. At all the other Templar on the bridge. They were silent, but through the Khala, she could feel them. Their thoughts. Their sympathy. In some cases, shame.

"Your orders?" Malekis asked.

Her eyes twinkled. Orders. The hierarch had given them orders, and yet he sought to hear the words from her. The words of an executor. Of a carrier commander. Of a warrior.

She strode off, paying no heed. Right now, she had no orders to give.

Only shame.


	4. Consolation

.

 **StarCraft: Stewardship**

 **Chapter 4: Consolation**

The gods had not come. The golden orb was moving down from the sky, the creatures of the Emptiness were still on this world, his people were dying and the gods had still not come.

Runs Quite Quickly sat there, on the solid cloud, looking up at the statue of Raise the Glow. Did so in the knowledge that at the least, his stomach had stopped bleeding. The leaves had stemmed the blood, and hopefully, warded off the sprites of the air as well. If the brulokon was still alive, he might have told Runs that he was right. He might even claim that it was by his faith that had kept the sprites at bay. Or perhaps he'd do none of those things, because the brulokon was likely dead, and he might well be the last of the people. He heard a roaring sound above and saw the flying daggers through the trees. They ignored him. Creatures of the Emptiness, the gods, it didn't matter. They flew through the air, leaving behind a noxious smell, and he was left below. A moment later they were gone. All that remained was the cloud above in the hovering ocean.

The ocean. He closed his eyes, and thought of the actual ocean that lay to the west, where Raise the Glow brought down her golden orb beyond the world's edge, where people had sailed its waters (according to legend). He had only gone to the ocean a few times, for it was a long distance, and only worth travelling to in times of great need, when the forest could not provide for the people. He and the other hunters would travel there, with spears and nets. They would wade into the water, and use their spears to impale nemetsky, while their nets would bring in dozens of coldar. Once, he had nearly been taken by a derekare. The giant creature had wormed its way out of the waters, devouring Early Morning Riser in an instant. On that day, Runs had proven that he could indeed run (or rather, wade) through water almost as quickly as he might travel over the solid cloud, let alone the grass or soil. Days later, they had returned to the village with a feast. One that day, he had seen Fair as Flower, and realized how true she was to her namesake. On that day, so long ago…

He winced. His stomach was still causing him pain, yet far more of the sensation came from somewhere higher up in his chest. That day was long gone. This day would soon be gone, and then would come the night. Rise the Light would bring his silver orb, and give a softer glow than that of its golden counterpart – not nearly enough to keep him warm. He might survive out here, but what did it matter? Come the dawn, the people would be in the Emptiness. And all he could do was remain on the earth, waiting for his body to join Giver of Life. Gods, monsters, none of it mattered anymore. He looked up at the statue of Raise the Glow. This useless, wooden statue, able to be toppled over, able to be dismantled – completely powerless. As useful and as merciful as the gods themselves. All three eyes looked up at her in a mix of pleading and disgust.

With indifference, her two eyes stared back at him.

* * *

 _Where are you executor?_

The _Tsokavis_ was big. All carriers were big, but it wasn't until now that Azimar fully appreciated just how big these ships actually were. Because while its crew could easily get from one part of the ship to another thanks to short-range teleporters, that didn't diminish that the carrier was…well, big. Big enough to carry dozens of interceptors, along with a pair of Phoenix squadrons, and a legion of warriors. A legion they were without, as the _Tsokavis_ had not come here for war, and their actual warriors numbered at around fifty. So not only was the _Tsokavis_ big, it was also empty. And in that emptiness, he had to find Executor Selendis.

 _And you say it is my kind that hides in the shadows._

The Templar walking down the halls barely acknowledged him. He was the only Nerazim aboard this ship, and Azimar had no doubt that for some of them, that was one Nerazim too many. He could appreciate, even admire Artanis's efforts to integrate the protoss kindreds, and he himself had no ill will to the Khalai, but he knew that it was amicability that was not always reciprocated. Likewise, many of his own kind bore resentment to the followers of the Khala. The Daelaam were splitting at the seams, and while none would say it, Azimar could see the truth – Aiur was the one thing they both desired. Artanis would take back Aiur for them, and until that day came, the Aiur and Shakuras protoss would work as a greater whole. A cracked circle, but at least one with an unbroken circumference.

He continued walking, his soft footsteps nonetheless echoing in the carrier's empty hallways. He was alone. Every Khalai on this ship could sense one another through the Khala, whether they be at its bow or stern. He wondered if he was in tune with the psychic link, whether he might know where Selendis was exactly. Likely not, but still, it might make his search easier. Because for the last hour, the _Tsokavis_ had sat here in space, making no move to Barkul or Shakuras. As prelate, he was the de facto second in command, and as such, his responsibility to find the executor. If she refused to cooperate…He quickened his pace. He didn't want to think about that. Already seeking out Selendis reminded him of Muadun. Only…

 _Muadun was a hero. He tended to his alavash, but did so because he saw it as his calling. Where is your calling, Selendis?_

He pressed a button that led to one of the carrier's training chambers. His head throbbed, and his bones ached. The sooner he-

 _Zerg!_

Raising his cybernetic hand, he prepared to activate his warp blade. A hydralisk was in front of him, and-

 _No._

He lowered his arm. It was a hologram, no less detailed than those conjured by Sentries, but a hologram nonetheless. Visually it looked no different from an actual hydralisk, but it made no sense for such a creature to be on this ship. Stretching out with his mind, he detected no thought from the monster, not even the mass of the hive mind that connected all their strains. But most tellingly of all, was the knowledge that this was a training chamber. And lo and behold, there was Selendis, wearing nothing but a training robe, and holding nothing but a shikma. The hydralisk towered over her, surpassing her in strength if not speed. It would do no harm given its incorporeal nature, and yet Azimar winced as he saw the Templar dodge the swipe of one of its claws. He had come too close to those monsters' scythes for him to be comfortable with on more than one occasion. Sometimes, he had seen his fellow warriors fall to them.

So he stood there and watched the dance unfold. The hydralisk was a clumsy partner, but Selendis, she moved with the grace of the Firstborn. The danced the dance that all warriors of the Templar performed in battle, weaving in and out of their enemies before striking the killing blow. The zerg would surge forward in a horde, terrans would unleash their weapons of death from a distance, but to the protoss, war was an art form. An art form that, he had to admit, Selendis had mastered, at least as far as close combat went. The hydralisk brought forward its scythe in a horizontal arc, but she ducked. Before the creature could react, she flipped upward, bringing her shikma through the monster's jaw. Holographic blood spilt out and the creature fell to the ground. Dead, he would have called it, if the hologram had ever been alive. A second after it fell, it disappeared, leaving Selendis alone.

"Impressive."

Almost alone. She glanced over at him, eyes blazing – he doubted that this hydralisk was the only conjured foe she had faced thus far.

"How long have you been here?" she asked.

"Long enough to see your dance and be impressed. Though I would like to think that in battle, you would have the benefit of armour and psi-blade as well."

"I would hope, but hope is like the breeze – pleasant to feel, but lost too quickly."

Azimar watched her move across the room, returning the shikma to the weapons rack. All the weapons there were antiquated, for the protoss had no need of crude weapons of iron now, but still, they had their purposes. Ceremonial mostly, but a blade was a blade. Iron could still cut through flesh.

"Why are you here, Azimar?" Selendis didn't look at him as she continued walking. She began taking off her training robe.

"You know why I am here."

"Artanis ordered us to return to Shakuras. I will take us there in due course."

"And how long until the course is set?"

Selendis walked over to her armour, currently held in suspension by anti-grav devices. She turned around and faced him. "It shall be set when I deem it appropriate."

The armour was lowered over her body and attached. Azimar's eyes narrowed.

"You disapprove?" she asked.

"Perhaps," he murmured. "But I can only imagine what the Hierarchy will think of our absence."

"They will think what they will."

Azimar chuckled, and Selendis's eyes narrowed. "What?" she asked.

"You," he said. "Your disdain for my kind is well known, yet you are more Nerazim than you think."

"I have no disdain for your kind."

"A lie, but I shall allow it. The answer to my next question however, I will broker no falsehood."

"And that question is…?"

"Why are you here?" Azimar asked. "And how much of your reason for being so is because of Haven?"

Selendis's eyes flashed. Azimar noted that yes, she was wearing a power suit, and yes, that power suit could generate a pair of psi-blades at the speed of thought. Selendis would not attack him. He could be certain of that at least. But apart from that…

"You forget yourself," she said. She began to head for the chamber's exit.

"I know that you care at least in part for the suffering of the eleesh," Azimar said. "And likewise, you believe in the Dae'Uhl as well. In your eyes, the Hierarchy is ignoring the eleesh's suffering, and now longer upholding the values your empire was founded on."

"Do not presume to lecture me on my values Azimar."

"I do not lecture, but question, and if you need reminding, I shall repeat myself. Why are we here, when the hierarch bids us return to Shakuras? And how much of your delay is due to…other considerations?"

He would have mentioned Haven again, but decided against it. Often, the best plan of attack was not the straight line, but the path of a serpent. Though he knew that in this case, poison already ran through Selendis's veins. It had done so for a cycle.

"What…other considerations?" Selendis asked slowly.

"Glory, such as that achieved by Executor Nevosion. Honour, of both the Firstborn and yourself. And in light of past failures…redemption, perhaps?"

Selendis just stood there. Azimar knew that he'd touched a nerve. Selendis's detractors had touched that nerve for nearly a cycle. She might not believe it, but he pitied her. He too, knew the taint of failure. It had happened in the Koloss system, when he and his fellows had found that the terran Moebius Foundation had unleashed a Void creature. The battle had cost him his arm, Xy'tal his life, and faced with the creature's parting words…hope, he supposed? Sanity? He had never spoken of it, of the horror he feared had been unleashed upon the galaxy. Those close to him had noticed the change, but few were close to him anyway, and he did not seek their solace. Selendis though…well, she had an entire kindred worth of company, but Azimar could see the sickness that gnawed away at her. Perhaps she needed this. Perhaps the Daelaam needed it. But at what cost?

"Haven," she said slowly.

He would find out. "Haven," he repeated. "Your greatest failure. Even after all your triumphs, that is the world that everyone comes back to."

"Yourself included."

"I am obliged to, right now. For the similarities are uncanny. You, alone, on the edge of space, faced with the decision to engage a lesser species. Only then, you had a fleet. And now, a single ship."

"A ship that could still take out the drakul."

"But at what cost? The Hierarchy has asked that question, but have you? And even if history validates your actions here today, how many lives will be spent to fill its pages?"

"When one writes the history of war, ink is the blood of both friend and foe.

Azimar remained silent. One of the sayings of Adun. He knew the writings of the Anakh Su'n, as did many Khalai and Nerazim. It was one of the few things they had in common besides Aiur.

But what of Haven, he reflected? History had made its judgement, and made it negatively. One cycle ago, she had brought a fleet to Haven, in response to an observer detecting an infestation in the terran colonists there – refugees fleeing the wrath of the Queen of Blades, not knowing they had suffered her touch regardless through the virus that would turn some of them into infested terrans. He knew that she had met in battle with the terran James Raynor, who had fought to save the colonists, to give them a chance to find a cure, and somehow, Raynor had forced Selendis to retreat. The entire debacle had cost protoss lives, material, and even a mothership. He did not know the full details of the battle, or its aftermath, but he did understand that it had cast a shadow over Selendis, and her standing as high executor. It was, he suspected, why she was out here in the first place.

"What happened at Haven?" he asked bluntly.

Selendis looked at him. Through her eyes, he could see sorrow, regret, and shame. She was still wearing armour, but her soul remained unprotected. Slowly, she leaned down against the chamber wall, her nerve appendages flowing down like a waterfall into the ocean. One dark and deep, and without comfort.

"Haven," she said. "My greatest shame. My greatest failure."

"How so?" Azimar asked. "I know what happened, but why?"

"Does it matter?"

"It does, in this moment. And I would like to know from you – for your sake, at least."

"You think I have not discussed it?"

"I do, and I think more needs to be said. So I ask again. What happened?"

Selendis paused, closing her eyes. Then, in but a whisper, she uttered, "failure. Failure and pride. Both my own." She opened her eyes – they were colour of the sky, before the storm. The storm that raged inside her.

"I had thought victory was assured," she said. "Haven was, and is, a jewel amongst the stars, and I would not have seen it despoiled by the zerg. I had thought with but one battlecruiser, Raynor would not dare stand against us. We would end the infestation. The terrans would die, but that would be a small price to pay."

"Perhaps not for the humans themselves."

"Perhaps not, and yet even before our might, Raynor did battle. Perhaps he thought I would grant him mercy. Or perhaps he did what he has always done, and did the right thing, regardless of the consequences. Safeguarding innocents against the flame." Her gaze lowered. "On that day, Raynor upheld the Dae'Uhl better than I ever could."

"And he won."

"Won," Selendis said, her eyes flashing, "I unleashed the _Purifier_ , a single mothership that should have been impervious to attack. I held the fleet back, confident in victory, deploying only a fraction of my forces. So yes, Raynor 'won' against those, even destroying the _Purifier_ itself. All for a battle that should never have occurred, when I could have crushed him instantly." She stood up. "The terrans are still on Haven, Azimar. I let them live. But I should never have threatened them, or at least, given them time to make their own salvation. I acted as if the universe had not changed. When we could stride amongst the stars in invincible ships, smiting those in space or land. I failed where Tassadar succeeded. I may invoke his name, but so often, I fear I am not worthy of uttering it."

"And thus, the drakul," Azimar said. "You feel that you owe it to the eleesh to be their saviour, and not just because of the Dae'Uhl. But if you do engage…"

"If I engage, more protoss may die," Selendis said. "And I cannot even say if they will die for a worthy cause. Raynor made his decision at that world, but he is but one man. I am behoved to the Daelaam. And unlike humanity, we cannot afford to waste lives so easily."

Silence descended on the two protoss. Azimar, for his part, had little to say. He would never call Selendis a friend. But he could at least understand her better now. Understand the burden she had borne. Understand why she both sought to engage the drakul, yet also feared to do so. Why she had not moved the _Tsokavis_ out of the system. But they could not stay here forever.

"I know what it is to have burdens," Azimar began, thinking of the Void entity he had encountered, and doing his best to shutter the memory away. "And likewise, I know that one must move on from them."  
"I know this as well."

"Then give the order," Azimar said. "You are the ship's commander, after all. You are still the high executor."

He turned to leave. But before he could exit, Selendis asked, "if our positions were reversed, what would you do?"

He stayed in place, and without hesitation, said "I would depart."

"Is it so simple?"

She sounded surprised – surprised enough that he looked back at her. "I pity the eleesh, but we cannot put another species before our own. And I did not spend my life upholding the Dae'Uhl." He paused. "But I am not you. You have your decision to make. Both of us know the needs of the Daelaam, but only you know the needs of your soul. So I leave it to you, Executor. Whatever your choice, I shall follow, whether it be into light or darkness. But the choice itself…that is your domain alone."

* * *

 _A/N_

 _Fun fact, the Selendis vs. hydralisk scene was taken from_ Inner Fire _, but effectively transplanted here. Also there it occurred near the start of the story, whereas I had it occur later here._


	5. Redemption

.

 **StarCraft: Stewardship**

 **Chapter 5: Redemption**

 _Executor?_

It was Malekis who addressed her as she walked onto the bridge, Azimar trailing behind her. Yet she could feel the eyes of all the Templar upon her as well. Looking out into the darkness of space, Barkul's sun a tepid glow on the horizon, she felt as if the universe was eyeing her as well. Judging her. Waiting to see what would unfold. For all their might, the universe did not revolve around the Firstborn, and yet…

 _Executor? Your orders?_

And yet once, they had stood as stewards over the galaxy. Once, they had followed the Dae'Uhl, the Great Stewardship, the burden that they, children of the gods, had undertaken. She turned around to look at the Templar before her. Fellow warriors that she could lead into battle, risking their lives for another species, or lead them to safety…and possibly shame.

 _I will address the crew,_ Selendis said, her telepathy reaching all of the Templar of the bridge bar Azimar. She glanced at him. He remained standing there, his eyes a darker shade of green. He knew what was about to happen.

Selendis activated the bridge's psychic booster. Through it, and by extension the Khala, she could feel the mind of every Templar onboard the _Tsokavis_. She could feel their unease, their confusion. In turn, they might sense her own unease. Yet she hoped her resolve as well.

"This is Executor Selendis," she said – they would hear her thoughts, but she thought it best that Azimar hear her words as well. "Some of you already know this, but I shall impart this news regardless – Hierarch Artanis has ordered us to return to Shakuras."

She could feel the confusion of her warriors dimming. In turn, welled up a variety of emotions. Mostly a mix of relief, yet also shame.

"He would have us abandon the eleesh," she continued. "The drakul have taken Barkul as their feeding ground. They have taken one village, and they will not stop there. They will take all of the eleesh as their slaves before the planet's cycle is done."

Not a lie. An assumption, though one she believed. She knew how the drakul operated. They all did.

"It would not have always been like this," she continued. "Once, the drakul would have fled at the mere sight of the Templar. Once, we were the Great Stewards, the guardians of the stars. Entire races lived and died under our gaze. We were as gods, and would be their shield if they were threatened with the sword. But then came the zerg. The Great War. The end of our empire. I do not lie, brothers and sisters – these are dark times. The hierarch says that every ship, every warrior, will be needed to retake Aiur. He asks, and not without due cause, why we should risk our lives for a lesser species. One that will not thank us, or know us. Even if we save the eleesh today, the universe may claim them itself. War, disease, disaster – even we, the Firstborn, know how frail life can be."

She closed her eyes, her memory taking her to the battlefields of Aiur. Shakuras. Braxis. Haven. She saw what all the Templar did. Life. Death. Victory. Defeat.

"But I must ask you, is this all we are? Are we not Templar, the swords of truth? Have we not all marched over a hundred worlds, sailed over a dozen systems? Are we so utterly broken that we must forget the tenants that have served us for millennia? I would say, no, my warriors. I would say that our sun has not set. But our sun cannot fully rise if we are unwilling to step back into its light. I would say that honour and duty compels us to aid the eleesh. But above all, I say we must aid them because…because it is right. They suffer through no fault of their own. They have not harmed us. Once, long ago, an executor like myself led her Templar into battle on this world. Will we flee, where our forefathers stood?"

She paused. She stretched her mind through the psychic link. The emotions of the Templar…they were mixed. Very mixed. She could sense that some of them felt similarly as her. But even they knew that her speech was intended to make them agree. Her words were eloquent, but not so eloquent that they were not seen as eloquent.

"We failed the Dae'Uhl before," Selendis continued. "The kalathi, the terrans, they may ever hate us for our failings. I too have failed, as many of you know. On the world of Haven, I met the terran Raynor with the axe rather than the shield. Fellow warriors died by my error. Their deaths shall haunt me for as long as I live. But failure, my warriors…failure can be learnt from. Failure can be moved on from. Are we to live in the shadow of failure? Or shall we rise? Stand as one? Let our blades sing, and our cannons be the crescendo that leads to our enemies' coda?"

Another pause. Another mix of thought. There would be no more delay. She would ask what had to be asked. And then…she would abide by it.

"The hierarch has given me his orders," she said. "But I ask you…who will stand with me? Who will protect those that cannot protect themselves? Who will stand with me, and remind the galaxy that our light has not yet faded? Who will again teach the drakul fear? For I say to you now, my blades stand ready, and I shall either come back to Shakuras with my shield, or be carried on it. Yet I will not order you to follow me, my Templar. I shall not order you into the omhara's den. I can only ask you that you stand with me. To remember that we are all Templar, sworn to protect our kind, and our honour, till the end."

She said no more. It would not be a pause this time, she would say nothing until she had her response. The Khala…if it were all the seas of Aiur, this was but one ocean. Smaller, but no less turbulent. She did not expect otherwise. The Firstborn were mighty, but even they could feel fear. Every Templar would give their life for the Daelaam without a moment's hesitation, but for another species? She could not say. As she waited, she looked at the faces of the Templar onboard. Malekis, who had torn through the zerg on Genovos, his psionic storm being akin to a hurricane. Judos, a zealot who had fought his way through an entire squad of terrans, in order to protect a group of Khalai Caste workers. Goethe, an elder, who had been there on Kalath, and been branded a criminal by the empire. Serassan, who had been there on Aiur when the Overmind was slain, flying high in his Scout when his entire squadron was consumed. They, and every other Templar aboard this ship had seen decades, if not centuries worth of death and destruction. And now, once again, she was asking them to do battle.

 _We shall fight._

The Templar. They spoke as one. The Khala bound them, and through its storm, she heard the elray's song.

 _We shall follow. We shall fight._

Heard it, in all its beauty, even as it weighed upon her hearts.

 _Na adan atum._

The war cry of the Templar. They would follow her. There was no going back.

 _Na adan atum._

 _You honour me,_ Selendis said, touching the mind of every warrior on her ship. _You honour yourselves._

 _Na adan atum!_

 _Khassar de templari!_ She said. _En taro Tassadar!_

 _En taro Tassadar!_

The words were said. Tassadar, Saviour of the Templar, was honoured.

And for the first time in a cycle, she felt at ease uttering His name.

* * *

Night had come.

Rise the Light had carried his silver orb into the hovering ocean. Raise the Glow had taken her golden orb beyond the world, and Runs would have been happy to never see it again. Whether it be by the hands of the gods or the creatures of the Emptiness, the people had been abandoned. His stomach no longer pained him, but his heart…it was not in pain. He would have to have something of his sha left to feel pain of that kind. He just sat there in the solid cloud, in the shadow of a goddess that did not know or care about the plight of the people.

The flying daggers were no longer in the sky. He could see the shining islands of the hovering ocean with perfect clarity. Hundreds of them. Some of the people said that the islands were pointers to the worlds of the gods, that if one followed the pattern of the islands, they would find paradise. Others said that the islands had no connection to their world, but were arranged simply as a work of art, as one might make a tapestry from sanger fur. He had paid those discussions little heed – the gods were the gods, but the world was the world. The world provided for them in the direct sense, the gods in the indirect sense. But now…now he might be the last of the people on this world, and never give the gods another thought. He-

He blinked. He could have sworn…Runs got to his feet and peered into the hovering ocean, all three eyes locked on the new lights that had appeared. They appeared to be moving. There were tales of times in the past where the islands had fallen to the land, like water being poured onto a fire, but these islands…they were not islands at all. What they were he couldn't say, but they were far too small to be landforms. They were…daggers, he wondered? Had the creatures of the Emptiness sent more of their ilk to ravage the people?

No. He didn't think so. He could see that their shapes were different. If the flying ships of the Emptiness were like daggers, these were like shields. Curved and round. Graceful, elegant. And even through the night sky, he could see that their colours were predominantly gold. The colour of the golden orb. The colour of Raise the Glow. Colours, however few, that flew over him, buffeting the trees around him in a rush of air. Colours that were heading for the village. His fur shifted, as did his arms. None would see him, perhaps not even the gods themselves, but it mattered not.

The gods had come.

His prayers had been answered.

* * *

The shuttle was outclassed by the Warp Prism in many regards, but there was at least one advantage – its occupants retained their cognition while they were travelling inside it. After all, one could not be expected to be conscious when stored as energy.

In Selendis's case, she was looking at a holographic feed of her Scouts' gun cameras, providing a perfect image despite it being night in this part of Barkul. Stelwart Squadron was flying on point, giving her shuttles a shield by which they would reach the eleesh village. Stelwart Squadron would engage the drakul's fliers, allowing her Templar to touch down and dispatch any drakul that got in their way. Fifty warriors, against at least three times their number. Easy odds, she told herself.

 _Time to drop zone?_ She sent out a thought to the artificial intelligence that controlled the shuttle. A microsecond later, a figure appeared on her display – two minutes. The drakul would know they were coming, both here and in orbit. So far, their Pillagers hadn't engaged them. But it would only be a matter of time.

 _Selendis._

She heard Azimar's words through the shuttle's communication loop. She had good idea as to what the Nerazim, but nonetheless…

 _Yes, Prelate?_

She would listen.

 _I would like to once again advise that this is an ill-considered course of action._

 _I have committed to engaging the drakul._

 _Indeed, but you do so from the frontline. You should be on the_ Tsokavis _._

Did he resent her, Selendis wondered? Being able to engage the drakul in battle directly, while he did so from a distance?

 _You have command of the_ Tsokavis _,_ she said. _One carrier against two Harvesters – a fair fight._

 _A fight that you should be commanding._

For a moment, Selendis said nothing. Azimar was correct, technically. She was an executor, and captain of a carrier. Even with its diminished crew, she was still responsible for over a hundred protoss lives. But-

 _Korshala Adun, Azimar_.

But she terminated the feed, and reflected on what she'd known from the moment she'd committed to this fight. This act would sully her standing with the Daelaam. She was commiting protoss lives to a species that would not know nor thank them. She was at risk of provoking a war with the drakul. In all of that knowledge, how could she stay on the _Tsokavis_ , asking her warriors to die in her stead? Had not Tassadar himself led from the front, giving his own life against the Overmind? Her name would never be an honorific, but she could still look to His example.

 **ONE MINUTE TO TOUCHDOWN.**

She turned away from the shuttle's panel and looked to her warriors. Ten in number – six zealots, two adepts, one Stalker, and one Sentry. A configuration roughly matched by all five of her shuttles.

 _Executor, we have engaged the enemy._

 _Strike swiftly, Sadeghar. Let your cannons sing._

In her mind's eye, she could see the Scouts engaging the Pillagers. The feed within the shuttle could show her the carnage, but she cared not to gaze upon it. In less than sixty seconds, she would be able to see it firsthand. They all would. Some might come from this battle without the ability to ever see again.

"Templar," she said. "We are at the enemy's gates, and while they man the walls, their ramparts are ours to climb. Their bodies ours to destroy. Their honour ours to take."

Did the drakul have honour? She couldn't say.

"Strike swiftly, and as one," she said. She ignited her right psi-blade. "And know that I shall be at the tip of the spear." Her left psi-blade ignited. "Na adan atum."

"Na adan atum," came their voices. All but the Sentry – she could still hear the Stalker's pilot through her suit's psi-link. Their voices were muted, but filled with resolve. She was at the spear's tip, but she could fight in the knowledge that they were her staff. She walked down to the front of the ship.

 **TOUCHING DOWN.**

The saw the shuttle's panel display, and clenched her fist. Once it touched down on the snows of Barkul, it would stay there until she ordered otherwise – the Pillagers were more of a threat to them than the drakul on the ground now.

The ramp descended. Before her, she could see the eleesh village, many of its structures on fire or smouldering. Before her she could see the eleesh – tiny creatures, running to and fro in panic. Before her, she could see her enemy. Drakul, dozens of feet away. Clad in black armour. Looking at her from behind their helmets, or in some cases, looking at her without helmets at all. Their dark, featureless eyes staring at her with all the warmth of the Void. She could see them getting ready to fire.

 _Shields!_

The Sentry obliged. The drakul fired, but the shards sent their way were greatly slowed once they passed through the guardian shield. She felt the shards impact on her power suit's own plasma shields, and her eyes flashed in amusement – no effect. The combination of two levels of shielding was too much for the drakul to crack.

 _Fire!_

The adepts fired, sending discs of psionic energy. The Stalker fired, sending blasts of Void energy. Even the Sentry fired its disruption beam. The drakul staggered, diving for cover. One of them began firing its plasma cannon, balls of green energy vapourizing the snow around them.

 _Forward!_

She charged forward with her zealots. Her supporting forces would keep up their fire for as long as possible, but they were the Firstborn – in the crucible of close combat were they forged, and in close combat they would emerge victorious. The warriors of Aiur darted across the snow, the shards of the drakul impacting on their shields or missing. Firepower greatly reduced, thanks to how hard the Templar's opening salvo had hit them. And yet-

 _Executor!_

She saw the bolt of plasma coming their way. If it hit, it would eradicate her shields, and possibly herself as well. But she kept running. Right into the green ball of fire. She ran, and for a microsecond, channelled her psionic energy into her own body. Enough to change her form into pure energy – a psionic charge, as the protoss called it, a means of quickly closing the gap between themselves and their enemies. An outsider would have seen Selendis and the zealots as an army of ghosts. But they were not ghosts, for they become solid a microsecond later. Solid, mere feet away from the drakul. Those without helmets, she could see the fear in their eyes. Those with helmets, she could sense the fear in their minds.

"Now!" As one! En taro Adun!"

Her blades cut into their flesh. She at the spear's tip, while the spear thrust forward with her. The drakul hissed, the Templar roared, and the cannons of the Firstborn wove a symphony of death. All around her, on both ground and in sky, battle was joined.

And it was glorious.

* * *

 _You have command of the_ Tsokavis _. One carrier against two Harvesters – a fair fight._

 _A fight that you should be commanding._

Selendis didn't answer him. Azimar, stationed on the bridge of the _Tsokavis_ , communicating via its psychic booster, didn't expect her to. Selendis had committed to this action. A course that at best, would save the eleesh, wipe out the drakul, and uphold the dictates of the Dae'Uhl (not a concept that he cared for himself, but the Khalai might). At worst, every protoss here would die, the eleesh would be taken into slavery, and the drakul would bond together to attack the Firstborn, starting a war while the Daelaam was preparing for a war on Aiur. All considerations that he knew…hoped…that Selendis had reflected upon.

 _Korshala Adun, Azimar_.

The psionic link was terminated, and Azimar was left there, standing in the light, while the darkness of space looked back at him, beholding the darkness that swirled in his spirit. _Korshala Adun_ – a Nerazim honorific, one that literally meant "until we both meet Adun." Did Selendis know that the honorific was given by warriors who did not expect to return from battle? Did she expect to perish on the surface of Barkul? Or was she in her own clumsy way giving him thanks?

 _And thus the mysteries of the universe take yet another step into infinity._

He glanced around the bridge, at the Templar at their stations. As a prelate, he outranked them. As a ship commander…he turned his gaze towards the pair of Harvesters that hung over Barkul – like the two moons of Shakuras in their crescent phase, only absorbing light rather than reflecting it. If not for the carrier's sensor systems, they might have been lost in the darkness of space. Not actual cloaking technology, but rather a type of alloy that made them harder to track. At least by lesser species. The _Tsokavis_ was a shining beacon in the dark, and its light had found them.

"Your orders, Prelate?"

He looked at Malekis, who was looking at him from his station. Did they think they should be in command? Perhaps. And perhaps that was justified. He'd never commanded anything larger than a Star Relic.

"Launch the interceptors," he said. "Have Steadfast Squadron follow them ten seconds after launch."

The Templar relayed his orders. In the hanger decks, dozens of interceptors would be dispatched towards the two Harvesters. Before them would be ten Scouts. If they were going to take out the drakul, he wanted to waste not a single Templar life. The interceptors, even if they were hit on their attack run, could easily be replaced, and would serve as a good shield for the Scouts. Once they were there, their ships to ship weaponry should hopefully make short work of the Harvesters.

"Enemy movement," said Templar Zakerana. "The two Harvester ships are moving apart."

"Any fighter launch?"

"None detected."

Azimar brought up a three dimensional image of the space battle unfolding, the _Tsokavis_ on one side of Barkul, and the two Harvesters tens of thousands of kilometres away. They could flee, he supposed, but they outnumbered the carrier 2:1, and 3:1 on the ground, and-

"Enemy firing."

Blips appeared on the screen, as both Harvesters fired plasma bolts into the swarm that was approaching them. They were going to stand and fight, unwilling to give up their prize.

"Interceptors taking hits," said Templar Thelim. "Carrier bays manufacturing replacements."

Azimar nodded. Even with two of the Scythes firing, they couldn't possibly hope to stop the protoss fighters from entering weapons range. Maybe they already knew that, as the two Scythes drifted apart – maximize distance for one, in order to increase the travel time for the fighters to reach the second target. Or it was simply retreating, but Azimar doubted it – Harvester 2 was, if anything, getting closer to Barkul.

"Executor Selendis reports that she has engaged the drakul on the surface," said Malekis.

Azimar briefly closed his eyes – _I hope it was worth it, executor_.

"Interceptors in weapons range. Steadfast Squadron entering weapons range in five seconds."

Azimar kept his eyes fixed on the topographic display – the interceptors were tearing into the drakul ship, their plasma cannons generating blue bursts of fire across its hull. They could have potentially taken it out by themselves, but in this case, they weren't the heavy hitters.

"Steadfast Squadron firing."

The Scouts were. Anti-matter missiles were unleashed on Harvester 1. Azimar turned away from the tactical display and returned to the viewscreen of the carrier. Through the darkness, he could see Harvester 1 be embraced by the Void. Its fire would burn until it was suffocated by the vacuum of space, and then its crew would enter the oblivion they deserved.

"Harvester One crippled. Second interceptor squadron ready to deploy in ten seconds."

"How long until they engage Harvester Two?"

"Up to five minutes. More if it increases its speed."

Azimar returned to the tactical display. Harvester 1 was gone, leaving his fighters out in the dark. Harvester 2 was firing at them, and drifting away. He knew that if it came down to it, it would outpace them – in the vacuum of space, the ship with the largest engine went the fastest. It might be prudent to take the _Tsokavis_ in closer and-

"Prelate! A third Harvester!"

 _By the gods…what?_

The thought was his own. Not bound by the Khala, the Templar of the _Tsokavis_ would not hear his surprise, or thankfully, fear. His eyes fixed on those of Templar Zakerana. Her golden eyes looked back at him, in…yes, what was indeed fear.

"Updating the tactical display." There was a 'blip,' and a third Harvester appeared. Closing in on the _Tsokavis_.

"Craven," Malekis said. "It was on the other side of the planet."

"And coming to engage us," Azimar mused. He looked at Thelim. "What is your assessment of the threat it represents to the carrier?"

Thelim's eyes narrowed. "Moderate."

"Moderate?"

"Their plasma cannons are designed for anti-fighter warfare, but with enough focused firepower, they could, potentially, bring down our shields. And without our fighters…"

"We have a second interceptor squadron ready," said Zakerana. "We could, in theory, deploy them to engage Harvester Three."

"And leave our fighter squadrons alone to take out Harvester Two? They've already taken losses."

Interceptor losses, Azimar reminded himself. A cost to the Daelaam that was negligible. But he could see the dilemma. They could try recalling their fighter squadrons, but what would Harvester 2 do? Go to the surface to engage Selendis, or engage the protoss at range? But without fighter support, if the _Tsokavis_ faced Harvester 3 by itself…the carrier was equipped with a purification beam, but that was meant for planetary bombardment, not ship to ship combat. The Harvester were frail, but they were fast, and they could still fire."

"Prelate?" Malekis asked. "Your orders?"

He looked at Malekis. He could tell that the Templar resented him. Resented his kind, resented his presence, resented his command. Did he resent Selendis too, Azimar wondered? He couldn't say. The Khalai still had their secrets. All protoss did. He'd kept a secret for two cycles, about what had happened at Koloss. About his failure, his guilt. In that, he supposed, he and Selendis had something in common. Guilt drove them as much as any other emotion.

"Prelate?"

"Have the fighter squadrons engage Harvester Two. Move the _Tsokavis_ to rendezvous with them."

"And our interceptors?"

Azimar paused. They could possibly deploy the interceptors to engage the third Harvester, but could they take the ship by themselves? And how much did the drakul know of protoss ships? Take out the carrier, and the interceptors would become useless. He could not afford a 1:1 trade against the drakul. Even a 3:1 trade would be one carrier too many. But maybe…"

"Have the interceptors adopt Adun's Shield," he said.

The Templar stared at him.

"Adun's Shield," he repeated. "The interceptors will be on point guard for the Tsokavis. They will intercept whatever fire comes our way with their hulls until our fighter squadrons can rejoin us." He looked at Zakerana. "We have enough material to construct more interceptors, no?"

"We do…perhaps," she said. "But Adun's Shield is meant only for the most desperate of times."

"Times have long been desparate, and I would rather use interceptors as a shield rather than ourselves," Azimar said. "Now dispatch my orders. The drakul can fire at us, but if they are to be the viper, we must be the stone." He put a hand to his chest. "Na adan atum."

"Adan atum," the Templar said. Some, softly, Some, grudgingly. But still…they said it. They would carry out his orders.

For now, that was all he asked.

* * *

The wound in Runs's stomach had healed, as in his heart. And he had run back to his village across the solid cloud faster than he had ever done before.

Not that he had ever had to run back to his village much. Once, after a skirmish with non-people, he had had to flee from their spears after his hunting party had been wiped out. But as fast as he could run, having run as early as he could walk, often, he had walked back to the village. A kill draped across his back, held in place by his arms. Now, he ran with not a kill in hand, but to draw blood. Because while night had settled on the world, Rise the Light's silver orb was full. So through the gloom, he could see that the gods had come, battling the creatures of the Emptiness. Because of his prayers or in spite of them, they had arrived. In the sky, their flying daggers danced like kerogawi, in green and blue flashes. One set of daggers, the golden-coloured ones, seemed to be winning. Every so often the darker daggers would hit them, but a flash of blue light would occur, protecting them. Whenever the dark daggers were hit though, they would explode in fire.

Fire…it was everywhere. Not just in the sky, but on the ground. He passed through the north gate, or rather what was left of it. Through the gloom, he could see the warriors of the gods, their blades shining through the darkness. Just as the stories said. His eyes widened, as he looked on. The creatures of the Emptiness could match their speed, but their staffs were shooting arrows of some kind, and doing nothing. Whenever the blades of the gods made contact with the creatures, they would either kill them outright, or cause them to double over before finally returning to the darkness that spawned them. He had run here in the hopes of joining the battle, but it appeared that they didn't need his help. They-

He moved just in time as one of the creatures leapt towards him. It dived into the solid cloud, but spun its head around, hissing at him. Runs staggered backwards as it drew itself up to full height – the creature was twice as tall as he was. Thinner. Clad in black armour that looked like polished stone, and adorned with all manner of carvings and trinkets – bones, of animals he didn't recognize. But above all was its face. No hair. Slits for nostrils above a pair of eyes and a mouth with spear-like teeth extending sideways. It might have some similarities with the gods, but Runs had seen the statue of Raise the Glow, and for all her differences, he had still managed to feel a sense of kindship though. This creature though…it was a monster. Even its eyes were different – larger, dark, and empty. The creature hissed again and stuck its mouth out, dislocating it from its jaw, like the striking jayaraj that hid in the solid cloud, bringing death to any that strayed too close to it with its fangs. He saw it reach for something at its side – a small, curved instrument that it raised to point at Runs, and-

He struck first. Extending his arms around the creature's neck, Runs catapulted himself forward, slamming into the monster. Both stumbled into the solid cloud, and through his eyes, he could see it drop its tool. It must have been a weapon of some kind, and he did not dare use it. But Runs moved too quickly. Extending an arm, he grabbed his spear, and plunged it into the creature's neck. Dark red blood poured out, and the creature squirmed. Hissing. Choking. Looking up at him with the darkness of the hovering ocean, but without any of its islands of light. Runs plunged his spear down even further – blood fell upon his arms, his fur, and the solid cloud. And it continued to flow, even after he deduced that the creature was dead.

Runs got to his feet – his body was moving faster than the speed of his thought. It was guidance he welcomed, as he had so often done in the hunt or the battle. He returned his gaze to the village, as the gods continued to do battle with the monsters. They appeared to have that under control. But where were his people? Had they already entered the Emptiness? He clasped his spear even tighter. The gods were slaying their foes, but did their role extend to saving his people? Or avenging them?

He ran forward. True to his name, true to his people. It was all he could be now. Whether he achieve vengeance for his people or salvation…he would fight.

* * *

 _A/N_

 _In the original outline for this story, I didn't have a space battle be involved, as it would be focused entirely on Selendis on the ground (well, her and Runs that is). Still, I figured that since I'd given Azimar a POV section already, it didn't make sense structurally to just abandon his POV for later chapters (similarly, I originally had a POV section for Artanis, but cut that out as it felt like too much of a tangent structurally). Course this meant I actually had to write the space battle scenes, hence why this story got extended in the later chapters._


	6. Retribution

.

 **StarCraft: Stewardship**

 **Chapter 6: Retribution**

 _Executor. We have found the eleesh. They were inside the Scythes._

 _How do they fare?_

 _Scarred in minds and bodies, but alive. The drakul were ready to transport them off-world._

 _Break their chains, then break their captors._

 _It shall be done, Executor._

Selendis terminated the connection with Adept Kalaris and returned her gaze to the drakul in front of her. Through the Khala, she would always be connected with her warriors, but in the heat of battle, much of her attention had to be on what was right in front of her. Namely the remaining drakul. Drakul that were falling by the minute to the blades of her warriors, including her own. The drakul had fallen back to their landing sites, the Scythes having touched down in the eleesh village, even on top of some of the buildings, crushing their wood into the snow. But with nowhere left to run, they were steadily falling to the protoss. Their speed and reflexes were greater than that of the Firstborn, and as they were nocturnal, they could see much better in the gloom. But their strength failed them, their attacks glancing off the shields of the zealots, if they even made contact at all. From range, their weapons could have harmed the protoss, but in closer quarters, they were only buying time. Already her adepts and Stalkers had went round to the drakul's flanks, firing in controlled bursts to thin out the aliens' numbers, ensuring that none of the zealots were harmed. The Sentries too stood ready to assist. Already Selendis had had them send hallucinations into the fray. The drakul fought against the protoss, but a number of their foes were little more than ghosts. And in the air, her Scouts had secured almost total air supremacy. Only a handful of Pillagers were left, and they, for whatever reason, were fighting rather than flying. Perhaps in the knowledge that as battle raged in space and on land, there was nowhere to flee to.

And she was in the thick of it. One after another, the drakul fell to her. As it had been with Machech 306 cycles ago, an executor led the Templar into battle against pirates and slavers. As it had not been at Haven one cycle ago. There, she had sent her warriors to deal death against those who wished them no harm. This time though, death would come from her hand directly, and justice would be the name of her blade. She would fight to protect the innocent, not slaughter them. This time, she would uphold the Dae'Uhl as it was meant to be. She dodged a drakul's swing, and struck out with her psi-blade. It dodged it, and the trio of blows that followed. But on the fourth, her blade found its neck, and its body fell, its soul being sent to whatever netherworld awaited it. Her eyes narrowed as she looked down at its body – dealing death to the drakul was not as swift as it might have been against the zerg, where one could swing their blades with abandon and grant death with every strike. But in the end, oblivion was still inevitable for these creatures.

The battle continued. A drakul thrust a blade towards her stomach – she sidestepped it, and decapitated it. Another opened fire from close range – shards impacted against her shields, until she darted forward, plunging her blades into its chest and tearing it apart. One swung its rifle like a club – she ducked, before flipping backwards, letting her legs knock it down into the snow. A moment later, the snow was stained with red blood. Psi-blades cauterized wounds to some extent, but nonetheless…

 _You would enjoy this Azimar,_ she thought to herself. _They do indeed bleed well._

Azimar. For a moment, she cast her gaze up to the night sky, where flashes of light could be seen in the heavens. Azimar had told her about the situation in orbit. That he was buying time with the _Tsokavis_ long enough for his fighters to return to the carrier to finish off the last Harvester. She had given him her blessings –Azimar was in command, and she would trust in his judgement. He was Nerazim, but he was still a prelate, and she owed him the benefit of doubt. And, she supposed, her thanks. He had gone along with this assault, even though he disagreed with it. If he could place his trust in her, she could place her trust in him. She-

"Executor!"

The words were spoken, not sent via the Khala. In less than a second, she saw a drakul lunging at her, two blades within its hands. The next, it was impaled on two psi-blades, held by Zealot Salerash. He kicked the drakul's body down into the snow and glanced at her.

"Thank you," she said.

Salerash nodded, and returned to the fray. Selendis ran a hand through her nerve appendages. Too much thinking. Not enough action. She looked back at the fray, and-

 _No._

Salerash was fighting another drakul, but that wasn't what caught her gaze. Rather, it was a drakul near one of the Scythes – the last Scythe that hadn't been cleared out by her warriors, given that drakul were still firing from its ramp. One of them being taller than the others, clad in all manner of ornaments – skulls, symbols, bones. A scion – a drakul of high standing within a clan, subordinate only to their clan leader. Holding a plasma cannon. Charging it. Firing it at her fellow zealot.

 _Salerash!_

He glanced at her as she darted forward. His golden eyes shone through the darkness.

 _Move!_

He turned to see the plasma bolt coming towards him. A green sun, bringing death rather than life. He tried to move, but-

It hit him. And so close was she that Selendis was cast back into the snow, landing hard. Her shields flared and gave out, as did her psi-blades momentarily. Steam rose from her armour, such was the heat of the plasma's impact. Within her mind, she screamed. Not just from her own pain, but from Salarash's. Looking at the spot, he was gone. Not in body, which was lying in a blackened crater, alongside a pair of drakul that had been in close proximity but his mind…it was gone. His spirit had one with the Khala. For a moment, Selendis gained access to his last thoughts. Confidence. Confusion. And at the end of all things…fear. The Templar were not meant to fear death, yet fear of death, in all sapient species…Selendis had found that to be a universal constant. She could not fault him for feeling fear in the end.

 _By the grace of Adun, may your spirit soar,_ she thought.

The fighting seemed to slow, as the protoss realized that one of their own had fallen, the drakul perhaps wondering why their scion had been willing to kill fellow drakul in order to slay but a single protoss. He'd taken at least two drakul for the zealot, and that, Selendis knew, in a war, would have been an exchange in the drakul's favour.

 _Murderer._

She rose to her feet. One death. One too many.

 _Monster._

They were here for the eleesh. She had sent her warriors to fight, and had now sent them to die as well.

 _Drakul._

Her eyes locked with the scion's, her shining blue meeting his pitch black, as if sky had met space. Did he know that she was the leader of the Daelaam here?

 _You will taste my blades, and my face will be the last thing your eyes see._

She rekindled her blades. She could see that he was charging the plasma cannon for another shot.

 _Aru nal'adan!_

She charged. The fighting resumed. She could see the scion charging up another shot. The drakul beside it fired at her, but while she could no longer rely on her shields, she could rely on her speed. To move fast enough to evade their shots, and the plasma cannon…getting ready to fire…

She jumped into him, legs first. He fired, but the bolt of plasma went up into the air. He'd missed. He'd be dead, and-

It drew out a pair of serrated blades and slashed Selendis's right leg. Her eyes narrowed, as she put one psi-blade through the chest of one of its two flanking drakul, and used her remaining good leg to kick the other aside. The scion got to its feet with the speed of a bengalaas, and looked at her with the intent of an omhara. She heard it say something to its subordinate – a chittering sound, like an insect. The drakul spoke a language, but it was beyond her ability to translate with her telepathy. From what she knew of the aliens, their chitters and hisses conveyed their language more through delivery (such as speed and tone) rather than relying on set linguistics like Khalani, or even the language called English spoken by terrans. But it mattered not. She understood that this scion was a leader, and wished to best her in combat. As its end neared, it sought her end as well. One last stand, before darkness took it.

Which suited her just fine.

* * *

"Harvester Two is destroyed."

Azimar didn't need Malekis to tell him that, but he appreciated it nonetheless. His words filled the void that the vacuum of space left in him, as he saw Steadfast Squadron take out the second Harvester. The ship had managed to down a number of interceptors, but to his relief, none of the Scouts had been destroyed. They'd be low on fuel and munitions, but with luck, they could be used to take out Harvester Two.

"Malekis, order Steadfast Squadron to return to the _Tsokavis_. Ensure the pilots report on their fuel and ammunition reserves. Thelim, how fares Adun's Shield?"

"Holding, but barely, Prelate. Reports from the hanger crew tell me that they can no longer meet the demands for this tactic."

"And our shields?"

"Holding firm," said Zakerana. "The drakul's plasma has hit us, but our interceptors have taken many of the shots. So far, the _Tsokavis_ itself is at no risk of damage."

 _But for how long?_ "Bring up tactical."

A hologram appeared in the centre of the bridge, showing Barkul, its moon, Harvester Three, the _Tsokavis_ , and Steadfast Squadron. The _Tsokavis_ itself was surrounded by a swarm of interceptors, rotating around it. Blips representing Harvester Three's plasma fire were represented. Many of them were met by an interceptor. Some reached the carrier's shields, but so far, they were holding. The drakul were chipping away at the boulder, and doing so as quickly as one might expect. And yet, Azimar noticed that Harvester Three had come closer and closer to the carrier over the last few minutes. The drakul were superior to the protoss in speed, and with increased speed came shorter distance. With shorter distance, came a greater rate of fire, and more accurate fire at that. Very soon, the _Tsokavis_ would have no shield bar its own, and at such close range, it would fare poorly.

"ETA for Steadfast Squadron?"

"Six, seven minutes," replied Malekis.

"Fuel and ordnance?"

"Low," the Templar said. "They've taken out two drakul ships, but to take on a third…"

He didn't say any more, but Azimar understood. He could count on Steadfast Squadron to reach the _Tsokavis_ in due time, but to have them engage a third drakul capital ship? That was a risk. He could have the Scouts land and re-arm, but that would take time, and if the drakul were wise, they would direct their firepower to the hanger bays. He could ask Stalwart Squadron to come to their aid, but they were needed on the ground, and it would still take time to get back into space.

"Prelate?" Malekis asked. "Your orders?"

Azimar closed his eyes, if only for a moment. A Templar asking for his orders – how times had changed. He detected no ill will in Malekis's voice, but the mind of a Khalai was their own, at least in regards to the Nerazim. But-

 _But nothing,_ he told himself. They were Daelaam. They were his crew. They had obeyed every order he'd given them so far. They had been true Templar, following the examples of Adun and Tassadar. Adun's Shield had protected them thus far, but now, Azimar decided, they needed to draw out the sword.

"Turn the _Tsokavis_ around," he said. "And begin charging its purification beam."

None of the Templar answered. Not Malekis, not Thelim, not Zakerana, not even Amaran, who manned the carrier's fire control station.

"Did you not hear me?" Azimar answered.

"We hear," Amaran said. He got to his feet – he was by far the tallest of the protoss present, and his eyes were a deep orange. "And we ask whether you understand that the purification beam is designed for planetary bombardment, not ship-to-ship combat?"

"It is still possible to use it as such, no?"

"It is," Amaran said. "But you would have us be still while the drakul bombard us. Charging it will put further drain on our shields. It-"

"I know this," Azimar said. "But do the drakul?" None of the Templar said anything, so he continued. "The drakul have lost two ships, and they are losing the battle on the ground. If they see us turning, if they see us getting ready to fire…will they still stand and fight? Or will they flee?"

"A bluff," Malekis murmured.

"A bluff," Azimar said. "Perhaps you do not understand, but when one fights in the shadows, a bluff can be as deadly as any warp blade."

Malekis's eyes twinkled. "Very well," he said. "We shall play your bluff. And pray that it works."

Azimar nodded. Prayer. He did not think it necessary. The gods were the gods, but they let their children be. The Voice in the Darkness had claimed it was the one true god, but while its voice weighed heavily on his heart, it had so far remained in the darkness, its voice silence. A silence as deafening as the xel'naga, consumed as they had been by the zerg millennia ago.

Still, he reflected, as preparations were made to turn the _Tsokavis_ around and prepare for the arrival of the Scouts, if prayer did help them win this battle, he would gladly take its aid.

* * *

The gods were slaughtering the creatures of the Emptiness and setting his people free.

He did not know what kind of vessels the creatures of the Emptiness sailed through the hovering ocean. Their flying daggers had been removed from the air. His people poured out of the larger objects that had landed in his village. Squinting through the darkness, he could see the gods shepherding them away, their blue blades providing light for them. He could see blue and green lights mingling in the darkness, though there were far more of the former than the latter. For a moment, he just stood in place. He had charged into the village to fight, but there seemed so little left for him to do. But looking at the battle line drawn between the gods and their enemies, he could see that one battle in particular raged harder than any other. Whether by accident or design, a circle had formed in the line's centre, as two combatants wove in and out, faster than any of the people could move. Faster than he had seen anything move. One of them was a creature of the Emptiness. Taller than the others, and not clad in armour. Its hairless head was clear to Runs's eyes. A demon. A monster.

Facing it was one of the gods. Clad in armour slightly more resplendent than his fellows. His two blades shone in the dark, never making contact with the creature's he battled. It was a dance, Runs realized. Touch the foe, and win. He had already seen the gods plunge their blades into the creatures of the Emptiness, how they killed with but a touch. But the demon's blades appeared little better than those of the people. They were without wood, but still physical. Yet, Runs realized, they could still be deadly, as one of the blades was plunged into the god's stomach, only to be quickly pulled out again.

His fur stood on end – could the gods be killed? Given how the god stumbled, they could at least feel pain. Given how the creature kicked the god into the solid cloud, perhaps the gods were not all mighty. Gripping his spear, Runs ran over towards the god. The creature he was battling would die soon enough. But if this god could fall…he wouldn't allow that. Not like the body of the god which was already in the solid cloud. The gods could indeed fall, Runs realized. Perhaps a second god would enter the solid cloud. Where did the gods go when they died, he wondered? Did their bodies enter the embrace of Giver of Life? Where would she go when she died? He ran, and paused.

The god in the solid cloud before him was not male.

It was _her_.

* * *

Selendis rolled to one side as the scion tried to stab her. She brought her good leg around, but it jumped back into the snow. Psionic energy crackling in the air, she got to her feet. Her psi-blades were much deadlier than the drakul's iron ones, but that meant nothing if she couldn't hit him. She got to her feet and locked her eyes in with his again. The sky and the darkness. He would be dead before sunrise. Yet would she perish before him? She rose her blades in a cross-guard pose, before lashing out. He dodged, and the dance began again.

Yet Selendis flailed. Her strikes slower, her evasions more clumsy. She had one good leg, and the wound to her stomach was taking its toll, blue blood staining the snow. The stomach wound by itself wouldn't kill her, but she understood the concept of death by a thousand cuts. The drakul before her however, would only need a few more cuts before being guaranteed victory. Perhaps even only one, if it got lucky. How would that play out, she wondered? She, Executor Selendis, struck down on the snows of Barkul when she should have stayed on her ship? Following in the footsteps of Executor Nevosian, but falling where the former executor had stood proud? So eager to plunge into the fire, she could not feel herself burning until it was too late. She-

…dodged another blow of the drakul's blades. Her mind was drifting. Shaking her head, she unleashed a flurry of blows against the scion. It evaded every one, until it brought both of its blades down into her right psi-blade gauntlet. Selendis cursed as the device shorted out, removing her of one of her psi-blades. The drakul lunged, but she kicked it with her good leg – hard, but not hard enough.

 _Craven,_ she thought to herself, ripping off the now useless gauntlet. _Pirate._

A pirate who knew his blades well, Selendis reflected. The scion was not an honourable foe – no honourable foe would have attacked the eleesh – but he was still capable. Still a match for her. Perhaps even more than a match, as she was now reduced to attacking with only her left arm. Again and again, the drakul tried to attack Selendis from her right. It might cause death by a thousand cuts, but Selendis knew that at this stage, it would only require one thrust into her flesh to finish her. Perhaps not instantly, but enough to win the battle. The scion was as good as dead, but fought in the knowledge that it had nothing to lose.

She, however, had much to lose. Enough to keep evading its blows, and strike back whenever possible. She could lose her life, in the service of a lesser species. She could lose what remained of her honour and standing, falling to the drakul on this gods-forsaken rock. She could cost the Daelaam their chance to reclaim Aiur. She had thought of such things before now, but here, as her blood fed the snow, and the face of a demon leered before her…it all came rushing to the forefront. Just as her blade rushed upwards to the drakul. Just as he grabbed her arm, holding it in place. Just as he leered down at her, hissing from behind its forked teeth. Just as it brought its blade towards her chest, ready to impale her. She closed her eyes…it was over. She had lost. She-

…was still alive.

She opened her eyes wide, and stared at the drakul before her. It wasn't staring at her. Rather, it was staring at the spear that had forced its way through its chest. It reached for it, putting its hands on its bloody tip. It looked like he was trying to pull it out, but it didn't get that far. It stumbled over towards her, then let out a final hiss, then fell into the snow, dead. Blood fed the ground, but not Selendis's.

"Executor!"

She was helped to her feet by Adept Farastran. One arm looked around hers, while he kept his glaive cannon pointed outwards. There was no need though, Selendis realized. The drakul were dead. Their ships were aflame. The eleesh were being herded to safety. All but one. The one that stood before her. He had attacked the scion from behind, throwing his spear into its back. She knew that the eleesh possessed long, flexible arms, but it appeared that there was great strength behind them as well. Enough to pierce a drakul's armour. Enough to save her life.

"Executor?" the adept asked. "What are your orders?"

She didn't answer. She just stared at the creature as it walked across the snow towards her. It reminded her of a child, such was their disparity in height. She, a creature of over two metres, this alien a ball of fur not even half her height. Three eyes that ran up the centre of its body, with two slits above them as a nose. _Alien_ , Selendis reflected. Not completely alien, for there were far stranger things that existed in the universe, but alien all the same. And she supposed that she looked just as strange to him.

It came to a stop in front of her. She tried to read its mind, but found nothing. There was thought, certainly, but not the kind she could comprehend. The eleesh did not have a language in the same vein as the protoss did. They were like the drakul, only while the drakul communicated verbally, the eleesh did so with subtle fur and arm movements. Even with all her telepathy, she could not fathom what the creature was thinking. But as it knelt before her, she could guess.

 _Raise the Glow._

She stared. She'd heard its thoughts.

 _Raise the Glow._

Or rather, _a_ thought. One pure, single thought. A single concept, transcending species and language. A thought that shone like a sun, brighter even than that of the moon above.

 _Raise the Glow,_ the creature thought. _Raise the Glow._

* * *

Harvester Three was turning around.

It had done this after the _Tsokavis_ had turned around as well. Before the Scouts were even close to entering weapons range. Right now, the _Tsokavis_ was effectively motionless. While it could adjust its facing, moving would only hinder its accuracy. Azimar knew he had one chance. One shot. He could fire the purification beam, and hope it hit the Harvester. There was a precedent for carriers to use the weapon in combat, but usually against capital ships of similar tonnage, and usually against ships that didn't as move as fast as drakul spacecraft. If the ship missed, by the time it charged up its beam again, the ship would be out of weapons range, warp space or otherwise.

"Prelate?"

He didn't look at Malekis, or any of the bridge crew. His eyes were focused entirely on the viewscreen. What transpired over the next few seconds could determine the fate of the eleesh below. Worse, it could dictate the fortunes of the Daelaam. Would destroying the drakul discourage them from returning to this world, or was it better to let them live, to carry word of the protoss's continued might?

"Shall we unleash the purification beam?"

This time he did look at Malekis. The Templar's eyes gave no hint as to what he thought of the situation. If their roles were reversed, would he fire? Uphold the Dae'Uhl through fire? Or show mercy? Let fire be replaced by light, to kindle a beacon that would keep away the dark? He couldn't say, for he was Nerazim. The darkness was his ally. Against an alien race, he was more at home in the shadows. Delivering death from them rather than from the helm of a capital ship.

 _I can destroy them,_ he reflected. _The Voice in the Darkness may dwell amongst the stars, but by Raszagal, I could end these wretches' lives here and now._

"Prelate?"

He closed his eyes. Selendis was on the ground, while space was his domain – the burden of command was his. Opening them, he prepared to give his orders.

"Azimar."

But didn't, as an image of Selendis appeared on part of the viewscreen.

"Executor."

It was Malekis's voice – he and the other Templar all turned their eyes to look at her.

 _You sound relieved to have your executor back._

Well, what of it? He cared nothing about their approval.

"Indeed," Selendis said, but Azimar could tell it was he that she was addressing. "The battle on the ground is won, though not without cost. How fares the carrier?"

"We are intact," Azimar said. "One drakul ship remains, but retreats. If you wish it destroyed, we must fire now."

"With the purification beam?"

"None of our fighters can reach it in time. We must fire now, or not at all."

Selendis didn't say anything. She just stood there, deep in thought. Azimar could not fault her consideration, but could fault her hesitation. The longer they waited, the lower their chance of hitting the Harvester. Because that was the only course of action. He and Selendis would never be blood kin, but here, at least, they would see-

"Let it go."

 _What?_ Azimar stared at Selendis, but quickly composed himself. "Executor, I-"

"If we destroy it, the drakul may return to this world to investigate, and we cannot count on the _Tsokavis_ or any other force remaining here while we prepare to reclaim Aiur. If we let it bring word of our power however, giving the impression that we are still capable of safeguarding lesser races, the drakul may think twice about tempting our hand."

"Or they could bring their full might to the field and start another war."

"They may," said Selendis. "But on another world, I did not show mercy as early as I should have. Once, I reflected that mercy was the indulgence of fools. Now, perhaps, mercy should be given.

"The drakul are not the terrans. They are invaders, not colonizers."

"Indeed. But as foul as they are, they are still living, thinking beings. We are upholding the Dae'Uhl, Azimar. All species are under our protection. Are we to raise our blades against the drakul when they no longer offer theirs?"

 _Yes,_ Azimar thought to himself. _You may squirm at the prospect of the blade entering the back, but that is the fastest way to send a monster into the ground, to be consumed by worms and their spirit released to the Void._

But he didn't say that. Instead, after some hesitation, he looked at Malekis. "Hold fire," he said. "Shut down the beam."

Malekis nodded. Azimar couldn't tell whether the Templar agreed with Selendis or not. No doubt the Templar on the bridge were conversing through their telepathic link, leaving him alone. Before the next moonrise, Selendis would be back in command of the _Tsokavis_. He would be back to being a prelate. A token Nerazim.

He could live with that. And likewise take comfort in the knowledge that regardless of what fate had in store for the protoss beyond this day, they had, at least, won this battle. The eleesh, at least, would live another day.

After centuries of life and death, Azimar had long come to appreciate victories where they could be taken.


	7. Commendation

.

 **StarCraft: Stewardship**

 **Chapter 7: Commendation**

It was twilight on Shakuras.

Granted, it was always twilight on Shakuras. No variations existed between its day and night cycle – a little quirk of it being nearly tidally locked with its star. Nearly, but not quite. Yet standing in the Citadel, looking out over Talematros, Selendis reflected that any distinctions were academic. Notwithstanding her time in space and on other worlds, Shakuras had been her home for five years. Five years, and the planet looked the same. Talematros, even as it had expanded over that time to accommodate the Khalai, looked the same. A sea of lights on a world where light was in short supply. A perfect world for the Nerazim – of a people who dwelled in shadow.

She hated it.

She hated being here. She hated having to live in this wasteland while Aiur remained in the hands of the zerg. She hated the zerg for having the Firstborn from her homeworld in the first place. But, she reflected, she could not hate the Nerazim. Not right this second at least. They had at least built a civilization here. Had given her people a home after the loss of Aiur. And whatever tensions existed within the Daelaam, Azimar had stood at her side. He'd commanded the _Tsokavis_ admirably, and had followed her orders despite his misgivings. They had barely exchanged a word on the trip to Shakuras, after leaving an observer over Barkul lest the drakul return, and spoken only a bit more once they arrived. He had a meeting with members of the Lenassa – matters that only those of his clan were privy to. She, however, was due in the Citadel. Artanis had made that perfectly clear when she'd contacted him after what she'd called the "Battle of Barkul" – she was to return to Shakuras, head for the Citadel, and if she defied him again, he would board the _Shield of Aiur_ and fetch her himself. This time, his orders had been obeyed. For now, she was standing in its outer ring, but knew that at a moment's notice, she would be called before the Hierarchy in the Citadel's heart. She tried not to think of what might transpire when that happened – nothing good, she reflected. It wasn't fear that she felt at the prospect, but…trepidation, she supposed. A lesser form of fear, but one that gnawed away at her. She had felt fear in battle against the scion, against a being that could have ended her life. Artanis had the power to end her role as a Templar. To excommunicate her from the caste. She would have a place in the Daelaam, but not within her caste. In some regards, a fate worse than anything the drakul could have given her. Of course, Tassadar had been excommunicated, but saved his people. She however, had saved a race of aliens that had yet to master the wheel. She couldn't hope for history to judge her as favourably.

"Executor."

She turned to the source of the voice. Before her walked Artanis. Alone, she noticed. He wore his ceremonial armour, shining as if a sun drifted through the hallways of the Citadel. Yet he was without any honour guard, let alone the Hierarchy members.

"Hierarch," she said, bowing.

Artanis walked up to her, but turned his gaze out over Shakuras. What did he see, Selendis wondered? A shining beacon of a united people? Or a world that he couldn't wait to get away from? Artanis had declared that Aiur would be reclaimed in the aftermath of the Second Great War, and had given orders to expand the Golden Armada in preparation to take the protoss homeworld, but how much of that was down to personal conviction, she couldn't say.

"It's beautiful, is it not?" Artanis said.

"Pardon?"

"Talematros," he said. "The way it shines in the twilight."

"It is…pleasing," Selendis murmured.

He looked at her. "Is that your own conviction, or do you speak what you believe I want to hear?"

Selendis lowered her gaze. Quietly, she said, "I am ready to see the Hierarchy."

"You are not seeing the Hierarchy."

She looked up at him. His gaze remained unwavering, and for a moment, she felt small. They had fought together, bled together, but here, now, Artanis was her superior. In every sense of the word.

"You are puzzled?" Artanis asked.

"I would have thought that…after my…"

"That after you disobeyed my orders, and the wishes of the Hierarchy, they would want to see you held to account?" Artanis's eyes twinkled. "For some of them, that would have been ideal. But I have more pressing concerns than to satiate the demands of personal outrage."

Selendis nodded. "I am thankful, Artanis."

His eyes blazed. "Do not be, Selendis. The Hierarchy is not here. I am. You are still to be held to account for your actions."

Her eyes dimmed. "I offer no excuse."

"Indeed? Surely there would be some reason for you to have come to aid of the eleesh. To risk a war with the drakul. To potentially jeopardize our efforts to reclaim Aiur."

Selendis didn't answer. Instead, she turned her gaze back to Talematros. Millions of protoss called it home, she reflected. How many of them knew of what had transpired over the last few days? Not many, in likelihood – the protoss, or at least the Khalai, worked towards the greater good. They didn't care about secrets being kept for them, for if secrets were kept, there must have been good reason, and therefore, they were none of her business. The Nerazim though…

"Executor?"

She looked at Artanis. She wanted to tell him of the shame Haven had brought her. Of her belief that the Dae'Uhl still had to be upheld. She wanted to say that she still respected Artanis as a hierarch, as a fellow Templar, and as, she hoped, a friend. That she hadn't meant to jeopardize his position by defying his orders, but that she had to do _something_. But she didn't say any of this, and kept her mind closed from her fellow Templar. She suspected that Artanis knew all of this already. Yet he had asked, and thus…

"I did what I believed to be right."

Artanis's eyes flashed. "You spent protoss lives and defied my orders based on what you _believed to be right_?"

"Have you not done the same?" she asked. "Did you not aid Tassadar against the wishes of the Conclave because of your belief in his convictions? Did you not save our people by virtue of you acting upon that belief?"

"I disobeyed the Conclave and saved our people. You disobeyed the Hierarchy and endangered our people."

"Tassadar disobeyed the Conclave to help the terrans. He spent protoss lives to do it."

"Saving millions," Artanis said. "You, at best, have saved tens of thousands."

"An entire race though."

"For now," Artanis said. "The drakul may return. The zerg may discover them. Some new catastrophe might find the eleesh, or they might wipe themselves out. In the end, your actions served them. Not the protoss."

"But my actions served the Dae'Uhl," Selendis said. "And I will not apologize for it."

Silence lingered between the two Templar. Selendis knew that she had pushed her luck, and pushed Artanis. Guilt welled within her, like a hot spring bubbling to the surface, filling her body with fire. Artanis had to keep a dozen bickering tribes and clans in line – she had no desire to add to that burden. And yet, her actions could not be undone. She would accept the judgement of history, but for now, she could not apologize for them. She had upheld the Dae'Uhl. She had been Templar. She had done what Tassadar had done for humanity. Acted as she should have at Haven.

"So be it," Artanis said. "I see you retain your pride, and your spine. But I will not change my judgement."

"I shall accept it," Selendis responded.

"Very well." Artanis paused, and drew himself up to full height – he was a head taller than her, but in this moment, Selendis felt that the difference was magnified tenfold. She felt like a youngling again, struggling to control her emotions, let alone a psi-blade.

"Executor Selendis, you are hereby confined to Shakuras until the Golden Armada departs for Aiur, or I deem it necessary to assign you elsewhere. You will spend every waking hour dedicated to preparing our fleet, preparing the Templar, and preparing yourself for this endeavour. You will not disobey the will of the Hierarchy again, or by the grace of the gods, your rank and standing is forfeit."

Selendis blinked. "You…you are not excommunicating me?"

"Excommunication?" Artanis asked. "No, Selendis. I have talked to your fellow Templar. Your disobedience and the loss of Salerash aside, they cannot fault your strategy, nor your valour in personal combat. I would have you at my side at Aiur when the time comes. And despite your actions, I would still benefit from your presence at Shakuras." His eyes narrowed. "For now."

Selendis bowed her head. "I accept your judgement, Hierarch."

"Good," Artanis said. "That shall be all, Executor."

Selendis remained standing as Artanis walked away. Likely to one of hundreds of matters that demanded his attention. Perhaps some of them even demanded the attention of the Hierarchy itself. She couldn't say. She was a Templar. A warrior. Artanis was those things still, but he had to play the role of both diplomat and commander. Burdens that she could only imagine. Burdens that, for which, she could not fault his judgement.

"Oh, and Selendis?"

She watched as he stopped and turned his head to look at her. His voice was softer, the glow in his eyes gentler.

"For what it is worth…I do believe you did the right thing."

She froze, before asking, "but…did you not say…"

"I meant every word of what I said. But if there is a sense of order and righteousness to the universe…I believe you have served it well, Selendis. As hierarch, I must put the fortunes of my people before all others. As Templar, I must censure you as the caste dictates. As friend…I am proud. And hopeful that history will judge you favourably. Perhaps one day, if the eleesh reach space and meet us, they shall speak of your actions fondly. And through us, be it a thousand years or ten from this day, we may tell them your name. Of Nevosian. Azimar. Malekis. Salerash. And every other Firstborn who fought in the defence of their world. "

Selendis bowed, and watched as Artanis departed. A hundred years from now, she may not be alive. A thousand years from now, her body would be naught but dust. But the future, for now, mattered not. All that remained was the moment. One perfect, happy moment. For her as a warrior. A Templar. A Khalai. A Firstborn with honour restored. She turned back to look out over Talematros, the lights of the city mimicking the lights of her eyes. She placed a hand to the glass that separated her from the outside world, psionic energy crackling around her, like fireflies.

For in that moment, Shakuras, at last, felt like home.

* * *

Raise the Glow had carried the golden light up into the hovering ocean, and it was time to get up.

Runs Quite Quickly didn't hesitate – he was lucky enough that his house hadn't been destroyed by the creatures of the Emptiness, but many of the people were not as lucky. He tossed aside the sanger fur that covered his body, causing it to land on Plougher of Cloud. He arranged his fur to show his displeasure, but he, like Runs, kept getting up anyway. Some of the people were getting up quickly, others not so much. Runs saw that Tender of Children was still asleep on his bed – a bed that was rotated in use every night. The people filed out, and for a moment, he considered waking her. Still, he decided against it. Many of the people were without their parents – they needed looking after, and Tender had filled the void as best she could, all through the day, and long after Rise the Light had carried his orb into the hovering ocean. He glanced at the last embers of the fire he had lit the previous night – he would leave them for now. Tender could use the warmth. They all could. The days were growing shorter – the new brulokon had stated that as Raise the Glow herself had come to aid them, she could hold her orb in the hovering ocean for shorter periods of time. Some of the people pointed out that the time her orb hung in the ocean was shorter around this time of cycle anyway, but the brulokon had shooed them aside. Their task was to rebuild. His task was to tend to spiritual matters. Given how the gods had failed to save the last brulokon, while he survived, was that not proof that he was destined to speak in the gods' names?

Runs exited his hut, extending his arm to swipe more solid cloud off the roof. More and more of it was piling up, but he just didn't have time to do anything about it. The hut would be at risk of collapse soon, but "soon" was not "now." In the "now," the people had to build as many huts as possible, as well as rebuilding the wall surrounding the village. The creatures of the Emptiness were gone, but non-people could hear of their plight, and if so, they could return to finish what the monsters had started. As he walked with the fellow people whom he gave shelter to, he noticed that while the village was awake, it was not 'alive.' Once, the people would have been selling their wares. Now, wood was the only item of trade, and its only application was in rebuilding. He walked over to Follower of Friends, the one who led the people responsible for rebuilding this part of the village. Runs adjusted his fur to show his support – her parents had named her follower, but she was a natural leader. The world would not change, but those of the people could. Tools were handed out, and he walked over with his fellow people to the latest hut. Through the corner of his top eye, he could see Fair as Flower walking by. She had survived the creatures of the Emptiness in body, if not in spirit. Now, only her body was fair. Her mind was darkened – he could see it in the way she walked. How her arms drooped in the solid cloud, how her fur was flat. Runs could only hope that her visits to the brulokon could cure her sha, but until then, he would keep his fur to himself. Few of the people bonded at this time of cycle – none wished to bring a child into the world when the days were so short, and Raise the Glow's warmth more fleeting.

He and his fellow people began to work – Climber of Trees remained on the frame of the hut. Runs had an easy job, in that his role was to pass tools up to Climber, whose arms, while strong, were not as long as others of the people. The work was hard, but not so hard that he was immune to the chill carried in the wind. He longed to be hunting. Scrounging. Anything that would give him momentum, and therefore warmth. His name was Runs, not Stands. Needs dictated otherwise, but…

But nothing. He handed Climber a hammer, whose fur conveyed his thanks, and, Runs noticed, admiration. The people had seen what he had done to the creature of the Emptiness. How he had served Raise the Glow herself. The gods were the gods, and could not fall, and yet…Runs had sworn he had seen her bleed. Blood not of the colour of the people. He had looked her in her shining eyes. She had looked back, before nodding, and turning away, even stumbling. If gods could bleed, were they gods at all?

Of course they were, he told himself. The gods had come. The gods had defeated the creatures of the Emptiness, and disappeared beyond the hovering ocean. How could they be anything other than gods? Why would the people erect a monument to Raise the Glow if she was anything but a deity, the one who carried her golden orb into the hovering ocean? For while he waited for the hammer to be passed back, he turned his gaze to the centre of the village. To the one thing that was being built from scratch, rather than rebuilt. The new brulokon, distancing herself from her forebear (who had been taken by the Emptiness, and therefore not as holy as the people had believed), had dictated that a statue be erected to honour their patron. Carved of wood, and as tall as four of the people, it was taking shape quickly. Faster than any of the new huts. Runs could see it was an imperfect likeness, and not nearly as elaborate as the shrine outside the village, but nonetheless, he could see Raise the Glow represented before him. Once, he had seen the people's relationship with the gods as being mere practicality, but here, Raise the Glow was honoured. And as far as Runs was concerned, she deserved it. She…

He paused. Legs deep in the solid cloud, he raised his eyes upwards. Something was in the air. Something close. Something…

It was naught but a kerogawi. Carried on its six wings, its feathers as white as the solid cloud around him. Flying south. All alone in the sky, below the hovering ocean. The kerogawi would return in the next cycle. The village would be rebuilt. This place would still be their home. He would run, and hunt sangers, and fish for coldars, and sleep the sleep of the rested warrior. He would honour his people, Raise the Glow, and all the gods who had saved them. He could walk by the statue of Raise the Glow, under the gaze of her two eyes, and gaze back with pride.

And a gratitude that extended from the depths of his sha, and the sha of all the people. For once again, they remained in the world thanks to her.

They would never forget her actions. The salvation she had afforded them.

Never.

 **The End**

* * *

 _A/N_

 _And...that's that._

 _So, thanks to the people who reviewed (or, at this time of writing, just one review short of_ person _). Concerning the last chapter specifically, I did consider including a scene for Azimar meeting members of his clan, but decided against it. Probably apparent by now, but the story is centered around Selendis being the protagonist, with Runs being the_ _deuteragonist. Similar to why I cut Artanis's scene earlier in the story, it didn't really seem to work structurally for Azimar. While he's a POV character, like Runs, his role in the story is reactionary, while Selendis was proactive. Likewise, the lack of a character arc._

 _Anyway, as far as shameless plugging goes, the next_ StarCraft _story on my 'to write' list is_ Requiem _, but that's way,_ way _down said list. For what it's worth, current writing focus is on a_ Firefly _story titled_ All the World's a Stage _, so, um, yeah._


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